The Hunger Games: Black River
by JasonCulhane
Summary: Cato is a Career, one who is haunted by tragedy and tradition. Forced to enter the games before he's ready to volunteer, he learns the full truth behind the capitol of Paneire that rules his island nation, and finds love from another Province in Foxface.
1. Chapter 1 Holiday

CHAPTER 1: HOLIDAY

I wake with a start. I shoot straight up in the bed and I'm breathing as if I've run a mile in a minute; I do _know_ what that feels like. Sweat drips from my forehead with a few drops finding my puffy, red eyes. I hate the sensation of it, but it stings all the more given how tired I am. Dreams, no, not dreams, vivid and unrelenting nightmares had kept me awake the whole night. First, I was being chased by rabid monstrosities that craved my flesh and eventually caught up with me. I awoke in the middle of being torn asunder. The next dream found me walking through a frozen wasteland where ice slowly encased me. I tried desperately to brush it off but, eventually, it had me locked midstride, but I did not die, I merely remained trapped, knowing only brutal cold and fear of unending internment. That was one I could not wake up from, as though I were frozen in the real world as well as in my dream. In the end, the ice all around me turned to an inferno which did not burn my flesh but that I felt nonetheless. It was that imagined agony which had me springing out of bed at the crack of dawn on this day of all days.

Today, after all, was the only official holiday in the entire year, and it was for a very special reason; it was Reaping Day.

Perhaps that was why my dreams had been so vivid and horrific. I am sixteen years old, but this is the first time that this day had caused me such panic. I guess I really didn't understand what the consequences of being chosen in a reaping were until my older brother was taken last year.

But I can't think about that right now. The reaping isn't till two in the afternoon, but I feel I have to mentally prepare myself. My underwear and vest are drenched with sweat, so I grab a towel and half-jog to the bathroom at the opposite end of the hall from my bedroom. My family's home is large, but that is typical where I live. I am a resident of Province 1, County 2, perhaps the most affluent place outside of the Capitol, also known by its ancient name, Dubh Linn. My county is one of three which border County 1, the location of the Capitol, but County 1 is not considered part of Province 1, for even the comfortable living afforded the people living in County 2 pales in comparison to luxurious lifestyles of those residing in the Capitol, or so I'm told.

I strip out of my bed clothes and get in the shower. A control panel in front of me has any number of settings, but I simply choose hot water with a basic soap and shampoo cycle. I'm in and out in five minutes. I step into a drier which quickly blows every last drop of moisture from my skin and hair. I wrap the towel around myself, and I head back to my room to get dressed. I feel too restless to be stuck in the house all day, and my family will not rise till at least noon, all except for my mother of course, she'll require more prep time before the reaping commences. I can't be sure if she'll go this year, though, not after everything that went down the previous year. Thoughts of my brother start to creep in again, and I snap myself out of it and put on my clothes. I don strong trousers and boots, an old, brown t-shirt and similarly-coloured leather jacket. I make my way out of the house without disturbing anyone.

I emerge to see a brilliant sunrise just peeking over the roofs of the houses opposite ours, and the flowers in our garden, and everyone else's in my estate, greet it with an almost audacious splash of colour, given that the buildings themselves are a very uniform grey in colour with little difference in layout. I head north towards the town centre. My town doesn't have a name, or at least not one that anyone living can recall, it just has an assigned number like everything else, Settlement 2. Once again, and you've probably guessed, the Capitol is Settlement 1, though, its denizens and government types prefer to refer to it as "City 1". I guess they can wallow in that particular pool of vanity without contest, as far as I'm aware, it is the only city to speak of in the whole nation of Paneire. That name instantly reminds me of that history lesson slash propaganda flick I'll have to endure at the reaping. Even before last year, I always found that the most irritating part.

As I proceed north, I notice a little more activity. A few drunks still trying to feel their way home after last night's revelries, it is not often they get a chance to drink so heavily outside of Saturday nights, Sunday being the only off-day. It's not long before I enter the circular centre of town, a wide expanse of cobbled ground where normally dozens of stalls and stores would be open, even by this early hour, but, of course, today is different. The silence is so refreshing that it's hard to bring myself to leave, but I need a better distraction than this so I head straight through the centre, continuing north past more homes and businesses until I'm at the town's edge. It's then I begin to run, hard.

I sprint down a dry, dirt path that rises and falls and twists with the uneven landscape north of town. I deftly avoid stones and briars and weeds that encroach upon it. There is already warmth in the sun's rays, and I feel my t-shirt sticking to my skin. As I exit a small copse of trees, my destination is revealed. Nestled in a small flat valley next to a river is the Training Grounds. It takes another two minutes hard sprinting to reach the gates and then, since they're locked, I have to scale an eight-foot stone wall. After dropping to the ground on the other side, I don't get back up. I pant and lay on my back as my chest rises and falls rapidly. It took fifteen minutes running to get here, and now I am sweating like a pig. I don't know why I bothered to shower.

Once I've recovered, I stand shakily and make my way around the massive training building. Inside are all sorts of courts, indoor tracks, target ranges, and even arenas for boxing, wrestling, and martial arts. That, too, is locked, however, so my only recourse is the outdoor ranges and the mock-up arena, the place where prospective tributes can get a taste of what it's like to actually be in the games. As I round the building and come upon the ranges, I am relieved to see that some of the weapons have not been returned indoors. I see several exotic looking knives, a broadsword, several short swords, a dozen or so throwing spears and last but not least, a bow. I take down the metal bow from its cradle along with a single arrow and go to the furthest target, two hundred and fifty yards out. I stand firm, one foot forward, I take the shot, and hit the bull's-eye dead centre. I do this a dozen more times, sprinting after every shot to retrieve the arrow and firing again. Despite my exertion, my accuracy does not diminish.

I'm what people call a Career. I actively train to fight so I am more prepared for the games than tributes from outlying counties. Here, in County 2, and in Province 1 in general, it is thought a great honour to participate in the games and so many volunteer. I hear in the three other provinces, tributes usually have to be chosen by random draw. That hasn't happened here in my lifetime. In fact, there are often so many volunteers that a random draw has to be done among them anyways. Even though I am a Career, I won't be volunteering this year. The pain of last year's games is still too fresh, and I'm not confident in my readiness anyways. I'll wait till my last year of being eligible to participate, when I'm eighteen, and then I'll decide. Chances are I wouldn't even get in if I did, I'd be in a draw with several dozen others who are all thinking along the same lines as me. I have to do it some time, though. It would bring great "disapproval" shall we say from my family and my fellow citizens if I didn't put my name in at least once.

After about an hour of target practice, I go to the obstacle range, losing both my jacket and t-shirt as the summer heat builds. I crawl under a net through the dusty earth, hop side to side through a track of tyres, scales nets, climbing walls and suspended ladders before swimming through a stagnant pool of grimy water. I come out back where I started cut, bruised, muddied and wet. That shower was _really_ pointless. I take my boots off to empty them of water when I hear the dry grass behind me crackle a little. Before I can turn to face my assailant, he is upon me. I am pinned under him, and his forearm is pressed against my neck, choking me. I manage to bring my leg back up and deliver a kick into his side that makes him release me a moment, but a moment is all I need. I push him off and stand. I try to deliver another kick to his chest, but he catches my leg and flips me over. I roll to the side as he tries to pin me down again. He falls flat and this time, my kick lands true to his jaw. He's a lot bigger than me, though, and I fear I only angered him with this cheap shot. I stand again, ready to deliver a few punishing shots to his stomach when, in a lightning move, my opponent finds his feet, floors me with a kick to the throat, and, finally, levels a knife at me. I struggle to get my breath back when he says, "Not bad, Cat, at least you would've died with honour and not shamed our family."

"Oh fuck off, Joss."

Joss is my easy-going, joker of a brother, well, half-brother. We share the same mother, but his father, Darius, was long dead, a victim of the games. It was tragic really. My mother, Constance, had married young, at my age in fact, and had given her husband, who was six years older, three children. He had already participated in the games and had won, earning himself much wealth and prestige, making him a very desirable young man, as victors so often were. However, of all the women he could have had and many without the need of subsequently marrying them, he chose my mother, a then beautiful and gracious young girl of a modest background. He loved her, though, and gave her everything he could, which was quite a lot, but all she really wanted was children and a home to rear them in. Nothing it seemed could ruin this rosy picture until the Hunger Games came around, but these weren't just any games. This was the 75th Annual Hunger Games, the Quarter Quell, a special games where there was often an added twist to the selection process for tributes. In that year, the quirk was that the tributes had to be chosen from each province's existing pool of victors. They also decreed that there could be no volunteering, only random selection. They hoped against hope that out of Province 1's many victors that he would not be chosen, but worst came to worst, and he was forced to enter the games once more. This time, however, he did not return.

My mother was left widowed with three children and forced to leave her home, which was a house which could only be assigned to a victor of the games. Her own family supported her, though, and a few years later, she remarried to my own father, Cornelius. He often told me how lucky he was. He had lost hope when she had married Darius, and he had been in love with her his whole life. My mother had not noticed him until he had introduced himself as a prospective suitor. He fully admitted my mother only accepted his offer out of necessity. He was a man of means, owner of the best jewellers in all of County 2, and he had a respectable home where she could continue rearing her children instead of being passed off between relatives. My father, it seems to me, had more grace than my mother, for he accepted the sorry excuse for a marriage to a woman who might never love him back. Even now, after giving him two children, I sense nothing but formality between them, like they're going through the motions of a business arrangement. My father still holds out hope, though, and I pity him for it. I think my mother will only ever love one man, and he is lost to her.

With the sour expression on my face as my throat loosens, Joss moves in and bear-hugs me saying, "Awh, Cat, please don't be mad at me. Come on, let's kiss and make up." He puckers his lips at me mockingly, but I just push his face away. All I can think is how I hate that nickname. My name is Cato, _Cat-o_, not Cat. It's an annoying abbreviation that I hate, and Joss knows it. He gives up trying to plant one on me and joins me on the ground facing east to see the mountains of County4 on the horizon. He is twenty-seven, my oldest half-sibling, the victor of the 88th Hunger Games, and a mentor to all the Careers that come here and to Province 1's tributes. He has trained me, my two elder half-sisters, Leandra and Sidra, and my deceased brother, Ezio. I gulp at the thought of him. Joss, though often shallow and fond of merriment, could see right through me, know exactly what was bothering me, and without preamble, blurt it out. "You know Ezio wouldn't have wanted this for you."

"Wanted what, Joss?"

"Cat, look at yourself, you're half-naked, covered in dirt and sweat, cut and bruised and all in an effort to think of anything but your brother. It's been a year, you know."

"And what? I should just get on with it, is that it? Forget it ever happened?" I snap.

"No, you should always remember him, but the time for mourning is past. Now, instead of dwelling on his death, you should be celebrating his life by living yours, and if you must think of his passing, think of the fact that he died with honour in the games, that he brought pride to his county and his province."

"Yeah, well, I'd rather he was alive and well than dead with honour. That whole valour and pride thing is overrated."

"If you were anyone else, and we were anywhere else, I'd throw you a punch. Be careful, what you say, Cat, that loose tongue of yours will get you in trouble someday."

"Will it now?"

"You can bet on it. The prestige Province 1 has, and the comfortable living we all enjoy depends on amiable relations with the Capitol. We don't need troublemakers or activists. If you'd ever travelled through the other Provinces, you'd appreciate what co-operation with the Capitol affords you."

I'd forgotten that after his victory in the games, Joss had done a tour of the four provinces. He had brought back stories of wretched people living in poverty, their towns nothing but slums, and not one of them looking like they'd had a full belly in their lives, and all because a small proportion chose to be terrorists, actively seeking to undermine the Capitol's grip on Paneire. They are known as the 33s. There are only 32 counties in Paneire, but these people have no home, no permanent place of residence, and so travel and length and breadth of the country, committing acts of violence against mainly Capitol facilities but occasionally,they target people in the provinces they believe to be collaborators. It's a wonder to me how they manage it, though. Travel between the provinces by non-Capitol persons is strictly forbidden and each province is separated from the others by high electric fences that are patrolled regularly by Capitol peacekeepers. Even travel between counties within one's own province is strongly discouraged.

I reply, "I'm aware, Joss, you tell me often enough. You know I'm not stupid enough to say these things in town anyways."

"I dunno, man, you seem to grow dumber by the year. I think you're giving too much of your brain over to training."

"Says you, the man who trained from dawn to dusk right up until you volunteered for the games at sixteen and still does the same, and let's face it, you weren't the sharpest tool in the shed to begin with."

He slaps me right across the back of the head, hard. I wince for I think there's a cut there under my hair. He says, "Oh come on you girl's blouse, I didn't smack you that hard and besides, you deserved it. I mean seriously, _you_ questioning _my_ intelligence."

"Okay, so neither of us are intellectual greats, we just know a hundred and one ways to kill someone."

"True, Cato, I have to give you a heads-up about something."

I know this cannot be good, he called me by my full name. I nodded and said, "Hit me."

"I won't be mentoring anymore, ever."

This shocks me to no end. I always thought Joss lived for this stuff, and after his whole honour speech and maintaining decorum, I'm even more confused. I ask, "Why? You're the best mentor in the county, hell, probably the province."

"I know and if anyone askes, I'll deny I said it, but I'm broken up about Ezio, too. Not for the same reasons as you, and I still believe there is honour in the games, but the way Ezio died, it was horrible. I can't help but sometimes feel that all those things that happened to him were the Gamemakers' way of increasing the entertainment factor."

He has a point. The games are a televised event. Everyone across the country watches them, or are forced to in the more impoverished provinces. However, the masses, especially those in the Capitol, have to be kept interested, so when tributes aren't actively fighting, they throw in a firestorm, or a flood, or a roving pack of vicious predators to liven things up. Ezio had the misfortune to be the target of three separate Gamemaker ploys. He first encountered a pack of mutts, short for _muttations_, a name given to genetically engineered creatures conjured up by the Gamemakers. Ezio was a much better swordsman and at hand-to-hand combat than I am. He dispatched many of the mutts, which were weird dog/cat hybrids, with the efficiency of a butcher dicing and slicing a prime cut of meat. One of them sneaked up on him from behind and a good bite on his arm below the elbow. He killed it, but not before it took his forearm with it. He was in agony, but bore it remarkably well, even when he had to cauterise the stump that was his arm. He fought on, even taking down two other tributes in his maimed state. I guess he still had his good arm, that's all he needed. He then encountered a freak blizzard in what was supposed to be a summer meadow arena. The temperature was so far below zero that ice formed on his skin, and he ceased up, collapsing to the ground. The winter storm passed as quickly as it came, but then the forest ahead of him erupted in flame and a fiery wall engulfed him. It's the screams I remember most, how he roared and cried at the top of his lungs, begging for mercy that never came. It was a minute before he fell silent and disappeared into the inferno. The fire did not stop, however, and eight more tributes were consumed by it. It forced the remaining six tributes together to fight to the death until a girl from my own province was the only one left. After the games, the peacekeepers delivered nothing to us but an empty casket, there was nothing left of Ezio but ashes.

Being that Joss had been Ezio's mentor, I could see how this conflicted with his sense of honour and bravery. How could he encourage the tributes to be courageous when the Gamemakers might kill them off to increase ratings? I say, "Well, it might be that they're just upping the ante to get more Capitol folk watching. The hundredth Annual Hunger Games will be next year."

"Exactly why I don't wanna still be a mentor then. If this is what they're doing in the years leading up to it, imagine what it'll be like during the Quarter Quell."

I shudder at the thought. I'm glad I won't be volunteering until the year after. I can't imagine what horrible twist will be dealt to the misfortunate tributes next year. Joss asks, "Just so we're clear, you're not volunteering this year, are you?"

"No, I'm waiting till I'm eighteen, after the Quarter Quell."

"Okay, good, you are so not ready for it."

"Thank you for the vote of confidence."

"I'm just saying, Cat, you may be a wiz with the bow and arrow and anything you can fire from a distance, it's when people get in close to you that you make mistakes. Your skills will only serve you if you're not ambushed or forced into close quarters with your enemy. Until you become more effective in that regard, don't put your name in."

"Okay, but what if close combat is something I'm just inherently bad at? I have to volunteer at least once."

"Then you better hope you're not chosen."

"Gee, you know, Joss, our conversations always make me feel warm and fuzzy inside."

"Hey, what are big brothers for?"

We both laugh hard as I shake my head. Many things could be said about Joss, and many have had a bad word for him down through the years, but one thing no one could ever say is that he is a bad brother or son. Our family mean everything to him and being his youngest sibling, I get at least twice the attention he gives to our mother or sisters. Sometimes that isn't necessarily a good thing; he does beat me up a lot, but having him to talk to does give me some small comfort when it comes to Ezio. Ezio and I were like twins, inseparable best buds, we even looked almost exactly alike, except that he was a shade taller and had longish, wavy blonde hair where I have straight, short-cut hair. I find it hard to make friends, especially with others my own age, so losing Ezio was losing my only connection to the world. When Ezio was alive, Joss was my invincible big brother who I envied but found very hard to approach, despite his jocular manner. Leandra, my eldest sister has been, is, and always will be a raging bitch. She's as tough as nails and highly opinionated, but rubs everyone the wrong way and regards her younger siblings with disdain and impatience. Sidra is exactly her opposite, a quiet, unassuming soul who wouldn't hurt a fly but is constantly engrossed in her studies of one field or the other. I really don't understand half of what she says. My father is good for a chat or a yarn, but he talks a lot about his trade which is jewellery-making, something I have little interest in, even though the production of luxury foods and trinkets and the like is the main industry of Province 1. My mother, as I've said, does not really love my father, something I resent her for. I know she adored Darius, but my father is a kindly, generous man at least deserving of her respect. I guess I'm short on companions but after the reaping, I'm hoping I'll be down a few enemies. I ask, "So any idea how many will be volunteering this year?"

"You know them all as well as I do, Cat. Don't worry, I imagine at least one of them won't return home."

He's of course referring to the Careers Gang. There are four of them, two girls, two boys, all eighteen who the other Careers have rallied around for years because they are the oldest in town. I don't know how it came to be that way, or even why they weren't led around by older Careers in the past. All I know is they formed their own little clique, and you are less than nothing unless you're a part of it. Growing up, I was always the weird, quiet one so I suppose I never made the cut, well, not that they informed me per se, but they did act as though I didn't exist until I started Career training. From then on, it ensued, the insults, the jeering, the sabotage, the constant challenges where someone always cheated or intervened if it seemed like I was getting the upper hand. Ezio was with me though, having started training with them when he was five but never joining their malicious little group. He helped me, protected me a lot.

I wondered back then if it was all worth it, me training for the games that was, yeah it is a great honour just to participate, and you are treated like a god if you won, but Province 1 is the only place where it was possible to stay out of the games with almost absolute certainty. I could have, but my mother insisted we train, especially with the legacy left by our own father; he was a Career but was never selected. However, my suspicions are it is Darius's legacy she is interested in preserving. It isn't enough that Joss, his actual son, and, in fact, his daughter, Leandra, who's also a victor, carried it on. I think in some ways she's reliving her life with him through us, having children who are victors of the games, only last year it backfired, horribly. Anyhow, I trained, and whilst I floundered for a long time in hand-to-hand combat and fencing, give me something to shoot, point at a target, and I'll hit it, whether it be with knife or spear or, my personal favourite, arrow. That advantage I had kept me going through the years, especially the past year without Ezio. In fact, I'd become even more engrossed in every aspect of training since his death, even winning a number of bouts with my former bullies. In the end, it might only be a temporary distraction from my grief, I might never be selected, but some part of me wants to be so that I might not come back, then I wouldn't have to worry about anything, my sorrow least of all. Joss interrupts my reverie, "Well, I'm rooting for you."

"Huh?"

"To lose a few tormentors, hopefully, they all get selected, and some other Province wins this year."

"You're right, you know, this conversation really isn't for town."

"Speaking of which, you know it's half past noon."

"What? I've to assemble in the centre by half one. Why didn't you say anything?"

Shrugging, he says, "I kinda wanted to see you sweat a little more…and run through town bare-chested and filthy."

"You bastard, wait, where's my t-shirt?" I stare at him accusingly.

"What? You're accusing me? You're good-natured big brother who only ever looks out for you."

"You were planning this before you even tackled me, weren't you?"

"I don't know _what_ you're talking about."

"Whatever, I have to get back, I'm gonna have to shower for at least half an hour, and it's a fifteen-minute sprint back."

"Hey, I might have done you a favour. Maybe when you go running through town like that, the girls in the gang might look at you differently."

"Fat chance, I gotta go…"

"Wait, I'll run with you. I've to be there, too, you know."

As we leave the training centre down the path, running hard, Joss says, "By the way, you know how I stepped down as mentor?"

"Yeap."

"Well, Leandra is my replacement."

I nearly trip myself up and fall flat on my face at those words. I look at him imploringly, begging him to laugh and say just kidding but instead, he says, "Sorry."

"Ah shit!"


	2. Chapter 2 Unwilling Volunteer

CHAPTER 2: UNWILLING VOLUNTEER

After overcoming the horror of Joss's revelation about who my new potential mentor might be, I made the trek back to town in record time. I can't tell you if my semi-nakedness impressed anyone, I was going too fast to register anyone's' reactions, but I do remember a considerable number of gasps, laughs, and "oh mys". My mother's reaction was, like everything else, poorly executed dramatics. After standing abruptly and throwing her arms in air, screaming in abject dismay, she slipped on the end of her extravagant dressing gown and grabbing her new curtains was all she could do not to fall flat upon her priceless collection of Capitol makeup products. She shouted a little more after that, most of it incoherent, but she had only so much time to chastise me before she had to tend to her appearance again. My mother might be a frivolous thing but at least she has her priorities straight. I think I never scrubbed myself so hard in my life. There was several layers of caked on mud to remove and bits of grass and other things I don't care to think about entangled in my hair and glued by muck to my body. It took at least twenty minutes of furious scrubbing to get rid of that and ten minutes of soaping to clear the odour. After I was done, the bathroom looked as though a bomb of mud and suds had been dropped on it. Mother will certainly be unimpressed when she comes home to that.

I might seem I'm overemphasizing the need to be cleanly, but appearances are everything at the reaping. You have to show the ceremony the proper respect. Showing up even a little dishevelled might get you arrested. After all my jogging and showering, I'm kind of cutting it down to the wire here. I run from the bathroom in my towel for the dryer's only good if you have time to stand around. I hand-dry myself rather ineffectively but I hope it isn't obvious. I get my hair as dry and neat as possible and make sure I'm not sprouting any obvious facial hair before donning my outfit. It's the same formal outfit everyone from my district has to wear year in, year out. Because we are Careers, we take pride in being part of the games so all our potential tributes appear in the standard functional trousers, t-shirt and jacket worn by tributes in the arena. Of course, the outfit can change in small ways depending on what climate the arena has, but that's the typical attire. I see on television that tributes from other Provinces wear the best clothes they have, which are generally normal clothes that haven't been worn that much. I can't say that I feel too confident right now but before the Career uniform was definitely a reassuring thing to have on. So, to be honest, if I came to the reaping in a cotton shirt and frayed trousers, I'd probably feel like an animal going to slaughter. I suppose that's how they feel regardless.

Having dressed and tidied myself up as best I can, I take a deep breath and make my way to the front door where my mother and father await and, to my dismay, Leandra. My mother's face is adorned in all sorts of powders in pinks and purples, and her hair is done up into a rather intricate beehive with two curled pieces of hair framing her face. She wears a broad, formal gown of lavender, I think it's one of the many shades of makeup she has on. Leandra is, much to my mother's eternal heartbreak, a tomboy, there's no other way to put it. She never wears dresses or makeup, she crops her short, and she is rather indifferent about stray hairs around her eyebrows. She's always wearing something akin to the Career's uniform, and I firmly believe she would wear the uniform all the time if she could. She may have won the games and returned home a victor but in a lot of ways, I don't think she ever really left them. Both of them, though, regard me with identically cross and critical looks but for entirely different reasons; mother because I put appearances at risk at the biggest event on the town calendar and Leandra probably because I risked missing or offending a very important aspect of the games. Father, though, shakes his head in feigned disapproval, and I can't help but smile. Mother's face contorts as much as her caked-on makeup will allow, and Leandra narrows her eyes dangerously. I ignore their implied threats , and walk passed them with my father, his arm around my shoulders.

Father holds appearances in as much importance as I do, absolutely none if he can help it. He always appears in public in the grandiose merchant suits that my mother forces onto him every weekday morning but when he's home or in his private workshop at the back of his store on weekends, he will not even hear of it. Mother always frets over the possibility of visitors calling and what they'll think to see him dressed in what amounts to pyjamas, but father usually plays the "my castle, my rules" card. I swear my mother glows slightly during those confrontations, as though she's about to spontaneously combust. Sometimes I quite wish she would.

We make our way down the same street of houses I took to reach the training ground. We're about halfway there when father lets go of me, probably because we're in view of the circle and he doesn't want to show too much sentiment. I think Ezio's death hit him at least as hard as me, he did lose his eldest son. I sense the fear in him now as I, his last child, plunges straight into that abyss from which Ezio never returned. He knows of course that I won't be going this year or even volunteering. Still, I can see the memories flooding back, and the pain is killing him. I feel the same way, and it's taking all of my strength to keep a straight face.

As we enter the town centre, I get a number of looks, some mocking, some disapproving, and some speculative looks from the girls, which I don't mind. Father nudges me and says, "I heard about this morning. There are easier ways to impress the ladies, a nice piece of jewellery usually does the trick, but I suppose if you want to take the macho, wild-man approach, that's good, too."

"Believe me, getting anybody's attention was an unwanted side-effect."

"Oh? Even from them?"

The two girls father had indicated sit together on a bench scrutinising me with rather provocative smiles. One is a black-haired beauty named Pallantia. She is slim but firm and taut with muscle and has sharp blue eyes. The other is Tori. She is a good deal shorter than Pallantia but no less strong, in fact, she can be a lot more nimble than her lanky friend, something the boys all observe when she trains and often discuss in depth. Tori is strawberry blonde with chocolate-brown eyes that are deceptively sweet. They are the two girls of the Career Gang and having their attention like this could be very good, or exceedingly bad, depending on your partialities. I find myself involuntarily grinning but ducking away from their intense looks, a reaction which makes them break into giggles. When it comes to girls, I find it very hard to tell the difference between good laughter and bad.

They pass out of sight as I move deeper into the crowd with father. Kids are lining up to get their samples taken. It isn't painful, just a prick on the finger and some blood, but the twelve year olds visibly flinch despite resistance to pain being one of the first things a Career is trained for. I suppose they don't have to work on that too hard for now, they all have six years before they even get a chance to volunteer. It's then I notice the small boy moving back from the head of the queue, intensely scrutinising his pricked finger. Even for a twelve year old, he's small and thin, I would have said he was closer to seven had I not known better. "His name is Aleron." My father says.

"What?"

"That boy, the little fellow, he's actually a cousin of yours."

"Really? We've never met, at least not properly."

"Well, he'd be a second cousin. He's the youngest son of your mother's youngest aunt who's only a few years older than your mother. I'm surprised you don't know any of his family. Her older children attend school and training with you."

"What are their names?"

"Korvin and Festus O' Reilly I believe."

"They're brothers?"

"Yes, non-identical twins in fact, so you know them?"

"In a manner of speaking."

Korvin and Festus, the lead boys of the Career Gang. I had no idea they were even brothers, much less twins and distant relatives. I wouldn't know it by the way they treat me, but I suppose they don't have a clue either. Well, suffice it to the say that they're the biggest assholes on the face of Earth, nothing but two ugly brutes with not a brain between them. They're attempts at using words in general are usually tragic, especially when they try to muster their entire intellect to come up with an insult. Normally, I ignore their pitiful attempts at mockery but sometimes, when a flicker of a spark goes off in their minds and they say something less dim-witted than usual, I dignify their jibes with a comeback. However, they end up hurting their heads trying to understand what I've said, so they just double-team me and beat me up. It disturbs me to think that on some level I might be related to such dull-minded human beings as they. I watch small Aleron join his peers and wonder how he, too, could have any relation to his thickset, hulking brothers. They scarcely look to be of the same species. He makes his way to a woman in her late forties, I'd say, who must be his mother, my mother's aunt who I've never met and barely know to see. She cups his face tenderly and directs him back to his group with a smile. All the others of his age, who all tower over him, laugh and point, but he stands as tall as he can and ignores their petty jeering. Perhaps there is strength in him of another kind.

As my father escorts me closer to the front where this year's volunteers usually assemble, I ask, "Father, how is that I've never met any of their family or even known who they are?"

"It is a long story, son, one with many plot twists that I scarcely know of and many I just don't get. Long story short, your mother and her aunt have never gotten along, even as children. They endlessly competed, trying to one up the other in outfits, makeup, and boys. The difference is your grandaunt grew out of those childish notions, your mother never did. It surprises me really. They share so much in common, too."

"How so?"

"They both lost their first husbands to the games."

"Really?"

"Your grandaunt, her name is Solita by the way, also married young to a boy of the same age. He volunteered for the games two years later and did not come home. She bore him two children in that time and struggled alone with them for ten years before remarrying and producing those boys of hers. Aleron was unexpected, though, I don't think she thought she would bear any more children. She dotes on him as you saw."

"So why in all these years have they never reconciled? Can't they get over some childhood bickering?"

"I'm sure your grandaunt could and probably has, but your mother is very stubborn and takes a lot to heart. In her view, there have been too many slights, betrayals, and lies for there ever to be peace between them. It's such a shame. I know her family personally and as customers. She'd a good woman and a wonderful mother. With the exception of those pair of dullards, Korvin and Festus who take after their father, she raised them all well."

"Hmm, and I thought mother at least had grace in her younger years?"

"Ssh, not in public, Cato," he leans in, saying, "but you're right, your mother was much less snobby in her youth, but Solita brought out her true self I believe."

"Father, knowing all this, why do you love mother?"

He considers only a moment. "Because I do, my son. True, she riles me up like no other can, and she's by no means perfect, but she's perfect for me, and I love her. It's just the way it is."

"I don't understand."

"And you won't, until you experience it for yourself. Now, off you go, they're getting impatient for your blood."

Still confused, I eye my father sceptically and fall into the nearest queue. I reach the front quickly and offer my hand, feeling that familiar prick and then moving to join the other sixteen year olds. Just ahead of me are this year's volunteers, most of them eighteen, the beauties Pallantia and Tori, and the foul masses of muscle that are the O' Reilly twins. One I notice is seventeen. I vaguely know her, her name is Ignatia, also quite beautiful with her auburn hair and hazel eyes but in a more classical way, not the athletic look of the other girls. The arts she practices in training are those that involve stealth, silence, killing an enemy from afar and close up without them ever knowing its coming. She is an expert on poisons and medicines and how to best administer them to their full effect. She is aloof from everyone and speaks only when necessary. I hear the others call her "Lady Assassin", which apparently is an agent trained specifically to kill and do so subtly. The others look unnerved; clearly they weren't expecting her to be joining them. It's easy to see they fear her. Then, something occurs to me, there are only five volunteers.

Okay, let me break it down simply how the Hunger Games work. Due to some rebellious act instigated by the 33s and supported by the Provinces against the Capitol nearly a century ago now, the Capitol decreed, after their victory, that each of the four provinces would surrender six tributes, three boys and three girls between the ages of twelve and eighteen, to participate in the Hunger Games, a televised battle to the death in which there could be only one winner. This would be an annual event and the reaping is held to select tributes. In Provinces 2, 3, and 4, this is done by random draw of names as volunteers in these Provinces are rare. In Province 1, there is also a draw but among the Careers who have volunteered to participate in the games. Usually, there are several dozen volunteers, sometimes as many as a hundred but today, there are only five, all from my town and one is younger than the usual volunteering age. As I've said, having a random draw among non-volunteers is rare in my Province. I think my father told me the last time it happened that he was a boy, too young to be chosen at the time. It's hard to contemplate this situation, something I've never seen in all my life, but I remember something my mother once mentioned. Eighteen to seventeen years ago, there was a meningitis outbreak in Province 1. The epidemic affected nearly all counties except for County 2, for we were the frontline in preventing the disease reaching the Capitol. There were hundreds of deaths before it was finally contained, most of them the very young. Those volunteers in front are of that generation. I assume then that there are no other eighteen year olds but these four, no one else from any other town willing to volunteer before they feel they are ready. That leaves the last place down to the luck of the draw.

Settlement 2 is the usual venue for the reaping so children from all the other counties gather here. They all wear the tributes' uniforms but their families and friends look somewhat different to us. While many are merchants dealing in luxury goods, they may work on orchards producing exotic fruits like pineapples or mangos or fisheries cultivating oysters or caviar. Tobacco, beers, ciders and wines, perfumes, makeup, clothing, jewellery, recreational drugs and luxury foods all come out of Province 1, and most counties specialise in one or two. Therefore the outsiders are dressed in garb more practical for their occupations, not that the wealthy merchants do any of the grunt work; they have hordes of "apprentices" for that. In County 11 for instance, you may apprentice in the greenhouses and learn everything there is to know about cultivating citrus fruits but unless you have the money to start up your own greenhouse, you'll probably be apprenticing your whole life.

As the last stragglers assemble into the orderly rows divided by age, a strange little man ascends a stage set up in the very centre of town. I say strange only for the fact that he's a man and he's got as much makeup on as my mother. His face is blushed with a light blue powder, his hair is neon blue, his eyes are lined with a deeper sapphire blue, and his nails are painted the same colour. He also wears a suit and tie that matches the tone of his hair perfectly. His name is Camille, a girlish name in my opinion, and he is the escort for Province 1. I think little of this blue creature with his unnaturally broad smile and vacant eyes. Every year I have to listen to him treat the games like this fabulous occasion full of celebrity and fun. Even the least diehard Careers take offense to his making light of the games, to them it's a serious contest and to me and perhaps tributes from the other provinces, it's an almost guaranteed death sentence. He stands in front of the microphone, looking into the cameras, and taps it as always, saying in his high-pitched voice and flowery accent, "Testing, testing, can you all hear me loud and clear? Oh good, very good. Welcome, welcome my friends to the reaping for the 99th annual Hunger Games. Now we have you all catalogued, merely a formality here in the darling Province 1. Oh my, you're such an eager bunch, always ready to contribute to the games and the betterment of all of Paneire. You should give yourselves a round of applause…in fact, let's have one right now please for you wonderful people." Everyone claps but not as enthusiastically as Camille. Some smile weakly but most have no problem showing their annoyance, not that Camille would ever notice. As soon as his clapping fit subsides, he takes a deep breath and says, "Now, this is a special year because it's the last games before the Quarter Quell and lots more eyes will be on the lucky tributes as we approach that momentous year. I hope you seventeen year olds will be ready for next year, I imagine it'll be a special treat. Ah, so exhilarating! Well, let us return to the present and to this year's proud volunteers. Now I see you have assembled up front as always, please state your intentions and your names for our lovely audience."

And one by the one, they step forwards. Korvin first, then Festus, Pallantia, Tori, and lastly, Ignatia. When only five come forward, Camille continues to beam, anticipating the next volunteer any second. Then when no one steps up, I see an unsmiling Camille for the first time ever. Bewildered at first, he manages a crooked half-smile, saying, "Well, where is our last boy? Come on now, don't be shy." He looks around anxiously but still no sixth volunteer. He looks down at the ground, shakes his head and closes and opens his eyes, as if trying to will himself back to reality. All remains the same, though. He looks utterly puzzled and finally, with his broadest smile, he says, "Well now, isn't this a surprise? This is a marvellous surprise indeed. Province 1 is short a volunteer. Why, in all my years as escort, I do believe this is a first." He jumps up and down like a little dog and claps, making a hee-hee sound as he hops towards the basket with the boy's names. He flips around to face the audience as he reaches it and says, "My, my, my, I do love surprises, and this is so very novel. Reminds me of my beginner days in Province 4 when I had to draw everybody's name, ah, the nostalgia. Well, all you boys are perhaps hoping to have a few more years but you're all strapping young fellows, why not jump right in. Who knows? You might surprise yourselves."

His hand moves into the bowl and he starts to root around. My body's like a rock I'm so tense. Could this be it? Could my family's luck be so bad that now I'll get thrown into the arena two years before my time? I look firmly at the ground as Camille retrieves a folded up piece of paper bearing the name of the last tribute. Camille says, "And the last tribute is," He unfolds it, I tense for the worst. "Aleron O' Reilly."

It's not me, it's _not_ me! Though my glee lasts but a split second when it occurs to me who it is. Aleron, my small cousin, just twelve years old, perhaps the youngest tribute Province 1 has had in decades. I look at him now as Camille urges him towards the stage. His peers sneer at him as do nearly every age group until he passes the seventeen year olds. He can't even be five foot, he probably weighs no more than seventy pounds and as far as I know, he has no special skills that would offset his physical disadvantage. He's as good as dead. He probably won't last those first few most violent minutes in the arena. Nevertheless, he shows no fear, stands straight, and walks with a steady gait. Though as white as snow, he does not flinch and does not give his peers the benefit of even acknowledging their derision. I see his mother, Solita, watch on as her youngest son marches to certain doom. Her expression conveys pride and hopelessness simultaneously. Tears are welling in her eyes but for her son's sake, she does not break down. I notice Aleron's father now, standing beside her, enclosing her in one huge arm. I see now where the twin's get their looks and winning personalities but even he has a grave expression on his face.

Aleron takes his place beside his brothers. They both look quite uncomfortable, but I don't know what they expected. There can be only one victor, so if it came down to the two of them what were they going to do? Now that they have another brother in the mix, it finally occurs to them that they might actually have to kill one another. The girls seem as disdainful as everyone else. It is then that the six tributes, starting with the girls, mount the stage with Camille to stand up for all of Paneire to see. There are no steps, but the stage is low enough that the girls can pull themselves up and the twins just step up in one stride. When the moment comes for Aleron to join them, he can't do it. He can't pull himself up like the girls because his arms are too weak. Solita starts to cry and conceals her misery in her husband's shoulder, he holds her tighter, trying himself to maintain his composure. Maybe he wasn't as much like his sons as I'd assumed. There's a lot of shuffling and casting eyes upwards and some even dare to laugh aloud. Anyone who has an expression of sadness on their face is probably only thinking of how bad this makes the province look. It is just as Festus, clearly pained by the humiliation of this, moves to help his brother up that I step forward. Just into the seventeen year olds at first, but then I shuffle towards the stage and say, "I volunteer."

I sound muffled because of my own fear and very hesitant, not really believing myself what I'm doing, so a second time and louder, I say, "I volunteer."

Everyone looks at me. Camille jerks his head to stare at me with those empty eyes. The other tributes all look shocked, especially the twins. Off to my right, I see Solita standing in front of her husband, looking distraught but with hope returning. Far to my left, my family are gathering together, my parents and half-siblings. Joss and Leandra look on approvingly and with Joss especially, I can see that it's pride. Mother seems torn. Of course, this is what she still wants on some level, the social status of having yet another victorious family member, but Ezio's death reached down into those cold depths and tugged at some small shred of humanity that lay within her. Maybe on some level she does love me like any mother should, maybe now she feels regret. I only catch a glimpse of father's face once before my attention is drawn to the stage. He's maintaining a façade of stoicism, but I can see the turmoil within him that I'd glimpsed earlier become a raging storm of despair behind his eyes. His last child is as good as lost to him. As I approach the stage, it is that realisation that resonates with me the most. _They all think I'm going to die_.

I stand next to an astounded Aleron and repeat myself. "I volunteer as tribute."

Camille skips over, delighted with the latest plot twist and says, "Are you doing so on behalf of this little one?"

"Yes, yes I am."

"What a remarkable thing, I expect nothing less from a citizen of Province 1. Well, come along now, young man, join your fellow tributes."

As I clamber onto the stage and take my place beside the twins, I take in where I am and wonder what came over me. No, no doubts, this was the right thing to do and if I hadn't done it, no one else would have. Aleron looks back at me as he walks over to his mother, still amazed in a grateful sort of way. He finds his mother who does not shy away from embracing him tightly. I catch her eye for a second, and she mouths "thank you". I nod in acknowledgement. His father, too, seems appreciative and very relieved. The twins, though, eye me with suspicion as though I'd done it for some devious reason, perhaps to win the favour of the audience, which will be very important later. Pallantia and Tori look at me with half-smiles with expressions that say they didn't think I had it in me. Ignatia remains totally indifferent. Camille returns to the microphone and says, "Well there we have it, ladies and gentlemen. What an exciting reaping we've had this year, and I hope it's a sign of things to come. So without further ado, let's have a round of applause for our brave volunteers, the tributes of Province 1 for the 99th annual Hunger Games!"

Most of them clap, but Aleron steps forward and puts three fingers to his lips and raises them in salute, not to the tributes in general, but to me. His parents follow suit, as do my family and a number of close family friends. It's an old custom, one not often seen in my province any more but it shows their support, and their respect. It also tells me that after today, they do not expect to see me again. Camille, confused by the gesture, says, "Isn't that nice. Well, to all I say happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favour!"

I hated that awful Capitol slogan of the games, it just reeks of insincerity. It's just then that Joss rushes forward and shouts to me, "Cato, _is féidir an corrlach a bheith riamh i do dtús báire._"

He smirks. He has just repeated Camille's words but in Gaelige, the old tongue of Paneire. Camille sniffs and looks away. Everyone stares at Joss as though he's diseased. What he just did would be considered highly provocative by the Capitol but his real meaning is clear. _Good luck. I at least mean it!_


	3. Chapter 3 Appropriated

CHAPTER 3: APPROPRIATED

Overcome by the sheer drama of the reaping process this year, Camille had forgotten entirely to give his cue for the film crew to roll the clip of Capitol propaganda and educate us all on the depressing history of Paneire, which we all knew too well already. I swear I can recite that thing word for word by now and it just reeks of insincerity and the gloating of those in power. The clip speaks first of the dark times centuries ago when massive climate change, rising seas and pollution led to strife, societal breakdown, and ultimately, the greatest world war in all of human history. After the fallout of genocide and nuclear exchanges, the rest of the world fell into disarray and barbarism, and civilisation outside of Paneire ceased to be. However, we alone stood as a shining beacon of hope for the future of mankind, for we were the most unscathed nation after decades of environmental and humanitarian disasters. Eventually, the first proper government took hold and they split the country along the county and province lines it had once been. Towns were rebuilt. People were given work and paid for their labours. The government set up a defence force called the Peacekeepers to keep raiders from beyond our borders at bay. The people were protected, fed, housed, and everyone had what they needed, or just about.

However, there were those among us who thought the government was unjust and had too much power and so, just over a century ago, a full-scale rebellion swept the nation involving the three outlying provinces against the Capitol, Dubh Linn, the throne from which our "president" ruled. The rebels at first gained a lot of ground, the three outlying provinces fell within the year, but they met stern resistance at the borders of Province 1. A lot of that was my own people trying defend themselves from pillage and destruction by the barbarous rebels, at least that was what the Capitol told us would happen if we didn't stand against them. There was a stalemate for over a year. While we fought valiantly, losing hundreds of lives and watching whole towns burn, the Capitol used that time to rebuild their own forces, and then peacekeepers flooded into Province 1 by the thousands followed not long after by their aircraft, war vehicles, and their gruesome _muttations_. Within the six months that followed, the rebels were devastated, pushed back into the very fringes of western Paneire with their backs against the ocean, they were cornered and slaughtered without questions, without mercy. Their leaders, the instigators of the entire rebellion, were never identified. The Capitol maintains they were all wiped out during the final massacres, but many believe they are at the core of the 33s, continuing the rebels struggle to this day, and that is something the Capitol could never admit to.

Since the ringleaders were apparently dead, the government decided that the punishment for the rebellion should fall upon the people as a whole, and so, the Hunger Games began. We thought, since we'd sided with the Capitol, that we would be spared any punishment, but the Capitol was convinced there were collaborators among us, so it was easier to punish everyone rather than try to weed them out. So the children of Province 1 were treated just like the children of those who had defied the Capitol. After all we had lost in the rebellion, fighting the other provinces on the Capitol's behalf, there was a great deal of resentment for that draconian decision but having seen first-hand what open defiance of the government could incur, people here kept their mouths shut.

So that is the history lesson we all know so well, the one that is so drilled into us that we can never put it out of our minds for long. Once the clip finishes, Camille is practically swooning with patriotic fervour. He finally collects himself from a long rant about how much he loves that "documentary" as he calls it and moves the ceremony along. He gets the tributes to shake hands with each other as is customary. The O' Reilly brothers give me an extremely firm, almost painful handshake which I bear without showing any signs of my discomfort. Ignatia is curt and barely takes the ends of our fingers in hers. The other two girls are exaggeratedly friendly, especially towards myself and the brothers, even going so far as to plant kisses on our cheeks. They then wave to the cameras. Already, they're playing the crowds and the Capitol folk probably loved that. Clearly, they're hoping for a lot of sponsorship when they're in the arena.

I sometimes don't know what to make of these two. Pallantia and Tori are, on the face of it, conceited, shallow, attention-seeking and seemingly airy little things. However, when they train, they are cunning, adaptable, and quick off the mark. It is like they both have multiple personalities and one or another shows itself when it is required. That quality alone makes them dangerous adversaries, for they can be as endearing and beguiling as any beautiful teenage girl and yet be as deadly as lionesses in a fight. I know I won't be able to muster the same likability that seems to just effervesce off of them. Some tributes can get away with being hostile and unfriendly by simply being impressive and dangerous-looking. That's another thing I don't know I can pull off.

Once the niceties are over, we are all marched into the Mayor's Manor. The Manor is the biggest building overlooking the town circle and stands at its most northerly point, matching perfectly with the curve of circle. That feature in particular makes approaching the house now like walking willingly into the open arms of death and as I am swallowed by its shadow, I feel the chill of hopelessness creeping in. We step into the cavernous foyer that is adorned with marble statues, ornate hardwood furniture, and luxurious carpeting. Of all the people in my county, the mayoral family of Settlement 1 live the best. The mayor is a grotesquely obese man whose garments are stretched to the limits over his bulbous frame. He greets us with little decorum. He has a large turkey leg in one hand, his shirt is unbuttoned displaying a full chest of black hair with bits of food knotted in it, and he holds a pint in one hand that I recognise as Guinness, something not easily acquired outside the Capitol. He parts with his food and drink long enough to shake our hands and to wish us luck. I don't appreciate the gesture much because his hand feels sticky, he talks with his mouth full, and his breath and body odour are the foulest stenches I've ever endured. Rolling around in pig dung would be a relief after that assault on my nostrils. After his obligatory send-offs are complete, he waddles back into the cavernous dining room where his family and a few select friends gorge themselves on a banquet that my family could not hope to throw.

We are each escorted to separate rooms down a hallway just to our left. This wing is only really used by tributes and doesn't see much use otherwise. The room has a single wooden chair and coffee table with refreshments laid out. I sit and nibble on a cinnamon biscuit while I await my family. I am allowed five minutes with them before I board the train to the Capitol. I hear them before I see them, my mother most of all, badgering my father in a perfectly audible voice to not look like he's already grieving my loss. He doesn't notably improve his expression as he enters, followed by mother, Joss, and to my surprise, Sidra, who I hadn't seen at the reaping. Leandra does not show, which is disconcerting given she's supposed to be my mentor. Mother hustles towards me first and without laying a hand on me, says, "Dear, that was such a brave thing, standing in for that little boy."

"My cousin you mean?"

Momentarily, she's startled that I know this but collects herself, brushing off my statement. "Oh yes, yes, indeed, very distantly related, though, fourth or fifth cousin I believe. Why, you may as well not be related at all, and it in no way takes from what you did, dear."

"I would have done it regardless, mother."

"Of course, dear, because that is just the kind of brave boy you are, and you will do splendidly."

You'd think I'm off to some summer camp the way she's talking. "I'll do splendidly", _really_? I'm about to get quite peeved when Joss intercedes. "Ah, mother, may Sidra and I have the last few minutes with Cato alone? We'd just like to pass on some things."

"Why of course, my dear. Listen to your big brother, Cato. You're getting advice from the best, and we shall see you again soon. Good luck, dear."

She leaves, my father trailing behind. He manages to look at me, nod, and smile, but I can see he's on the verge of weeping. They leave the room, and mother is actually humming a tune and nodding her head from side to side. At first, I feel anger, but then it occurs to me she may be in total denial or even shock. As always, Joss sees right through me and says, "Don't be angry at mother, I think this is just her coping mechanism. It's either denial or lose her mind. We kinda asked for this time so they'd leave before they break down in front of you. That's the last thing you need."

"Thank you, is my father okay?"

"Cato, you're his last son. I don't know how he managed to come in this room."

"I could see it in his eyes you know. To him, I'm already dead."

"He has hope for you, Cato, but a lot of fear, too. You can't blame him, he's already lost one son to the games."

"Can you do me a favour so and try to keep him away from the television while the games are on?"

"Don't worry, won't be too hard."

Sidra steps forward and says, "I'll be along with you as a co-escort, Cato. I never participated in the games or even excelled at training, but I have been in the Capitol employed as a technician, and I can probably explain a lot of the subtleties of their customs better than Camille. I can also help you out in gaining favour with potential sponsors."

"Isn't Leandra supposed to tutor me on that?"

"Leandra won her games through sheer skill, Cato. She never received a single gift because she's just not that likeable. As impressive a fighter as she is, she was definitely not the favourite to win. You might have a somewhat better chance playing the sponsorship angle."

"Thanks, I think. How'd you get this gig anyways?"

"Camille puts on a good show, but he's a dolt. He's the escort for Province 1 only because of who he knows in the Capitol. It's a cushy position requiring the minimum of thought and affording maximum exposure, which is exactly what he wants. Some diligent person in the Capitol realised his inaptitude and took steps. No one can openly try to dismiss him, it'd be suicide, so for the past five years he's been appointed an "assistant" from this province to make up for his shortcomings. He's under the impression it's a sign of his status, so he's none the wiser."

"And I assume you must volunteer for this role."

"Yes, I wanted to accompany you, my brother, and help you out any way I can."

"Are you certain you want to accompany me to my death?"

Joss interrupts me. "Enough, Cato, you start thinking you're gonna die, you will die. Do you think your brother went in feeling sorry for himself? No, he went in planning to come back out, and he would have if the Gamemakers had given him a fair chance. Now, Sidra and Leandra will help you as much as they can. All you need to do is train hard and remain strong. If you won't do it for yourself then do it for the rest of us." He stands in front of me and places his hands on my shoulders and says, "Please, Cato, we can't go through it again. I love you, you'd better come back."

He embraces me quickly and walks through the door held open by a Peacekeeper guard without looking back. I am stunned. I don't think he has ever said out loud that he loves me or to anyone else for that matter. His goodbye leaves me confounded. His words were meant to encourage but that display has just thrown me even further off balance. The guard says, "The train to the Capitol is ready to go. You'd better escort him over now."

Sidra, who is much smaller than me, takes me by the elbow and leads me out. I am catatonic but my eyes are full of tears that I refuse to cry. I can't show any sign of weakness, especially not in front of the competition as we all march out the back of the Mayor's Manor to a waiting car which will transport us to the train station just a few minutes' drive from the town. All the tributes sit into this large vehicle. I am seated beside the icy Ignatia with the O' Reilly brothers sitting just across from me with menacing glares. I ignore them, though. and just watch my home and my county retreat from view as we enter a fenced off compound where the Peacekeepers for County 2 are based and which also houses the station.

The Peacekeepers for the most part ignore our passage and march around with their pristine white uniforms and rifles held at the ready as if some attack is imminent. Even as we pull up beside the platform and disembark, we are paid scant attention. It's not that I'm disappointed but I expected a little more madness than this surrounding the tributes for the last games before the Quarter Quell. I suppose though it's not worth their skins for the Peacekeepers to deviate from their jobs just to admire us, or perhaps they're so used to seeing teenagers like me pass this way every year that we are of little interest to them. I trudge through the muddy ground to the side of the platform where Camille is already ushering us towards the gaping doorway of the train. I approach it warily like it's the maw of some carnivorous beast. The others just file in casually like we're going on a vacation. In the end, Sidra has to urge me forward once again. I zone out so much that I don't remember being taken to my seat.

Settlement 1 is only a forty-five minute train ride from the Capitol so when I break out of my melancholia, we're already more than halfway there. The countryside of my county is already long gone replaced by sprawling estates and manicured parks. It's hard to believe this totally artificial world exists less than an hour from my quaint little hometown. Staring out at the endless sea of houses and highly-planned streets, I become mesmerised by it but when I think of what it represents, the place that is taking me from my family, my life, it becomes easier not to look at the gaudy multi-coloured houses and the equally garish citizens walking their diminutive dogs or gorging on assorted candy treats and fruity drinks, laughing and chatting without a care in the world. I realise I hate them. I never particularly thought much of them before, they seem like such naïve, frivolous little things, even worse than the most thoughtless twats that my province has to offer, but only now does it occur to me that no matter how innocent and child-like they are, they still know what goes on in the Hunger Games. They still know that children die, and they enjoy it, they cheer it on, they applaud at the end, and they can't wait for the next games to begin. We are the entertainment for the masses and our slaughter is the main event.

A moment later, when I've pulled my eyes away in disgust, I notice all the treats laid out for us. We each have our own compartment without a door but with a table, lavish seating, and a mini-banquet laid out for each of us. The train trip's short so it's mostly ready to eat deserts. I see profiteroles, strawberries and nuts coated in chocolate, slices of cream-filled cake, fruit-topped meringues and other items I can't even put a name on. Careers are actually thought some nutrition, and we're told to avoid most of this stuff. All that sugar is great for an energy buzz, but an overweight Career is unheard of. Simply put, if you overindulge, you pay for it in training and after spending a whole day in the obstacle course trying to burn off a quarter of a chocolate cake you ate, it's suddenly not as appealing. Nevertheless I'm feeling rundown so I pick at a few things, a biscuit, some of the strawberries, but I can't even finish those. I know what Joss's last words were to me. Be strong, don't give up hope essentially, but I can feel it all just draining out of me. It seems impossible to stay positive when all I can feel is dread at best and like I'm the walking dead at worst. It's just then that Sidra enters. My sister is small and a know-it-all, but she inherited my mother's once famous beauty. She's had many a suitor, but none of them appealed to her. No one can challenge Sidra intellectually so most people bore her. She'd be hard-pressed to find a man with two brain cells to rub together in my town, and that'd coming from me, I'm sure her opinions are much worse. Sidra is normally a calm and quiet soul and rarely becomes emotional but right now she looks flustered and even a little annoyed. I ask, "You okay, Sidra?"

"It's Leandra. She found the bar."

"As in the drinks bar?"

"Why no, Cato, a chocolate one, yes of course that's what I mean."

I've never known her to be sarcastic, let alone snappy, so Leandra must have really pissed her off. I say, "Is she hammered already? We've only been on-board for forty minutes."

"Well, Leandra's as proficient with alcohol as she is with a sword. She also drinks only the best spirits. She's wrecking my head. I'm trying to get her to concentrate on being your mentor. You'll need her for the training side of things, especially for strategizing for when you enter the arena. If she could only get her act together."

"Does Leandra drink a lot?"

"Oh yes, there isn't a night that goes by that she isn't in the local back home, drinking herself silly and picking fights with men twice her size to prove she's the best. Granted she wins all the time, but it's not exactly a dignified lifestyle."

"But why does she do it?"

"Cato, she may play up how great the games are and how proud she is of her victory but no one comes away from the games unscathed. You may not know this but Leandra holds the record for greatest number of kills by one tribute. She was personally responsible for eighty-three percent of the deaths in her games. She's strong-willed and fierce, but can you imagine seeing the faces of twenty people that you murdered every day and waking up from nightmares about them every night?"

"No, I guess not."

"We all have our coping mechanisms, Cato. Hers just happens to be a little inconvenient at the moment."

"Sidra, I don't understand why you can't just be my mentor? I mean you give yourself too little credit. You can do more than instruct me how to act, what to say, and the like. If anyone's gonna teach me strategy, it's you. You are the genius in the family after all."

"How very flattering, do you charm all the ladies this way?"

"Sidra, please, that's just wrong on more levels than I care to think about."

"The girl tributes don't seem to think so, except for that ice bitch, Ignatia. God, her name is so inappropriate for her. Anyways, I'm digressing, it's nice that you think so highly of your big sister, Cato, but I'm not that kind of smart. That's Leandra's area of expertise and seeing as she's the official mentor, I'd rather not step on her toes, especially in her current state. She goes through bouts of raging alcoholism and then a stiff upper lip period. She'll come around before training starts."

"Do you think that maybe I could go talk to her?"

"Not unless you want to start your training with a bar fight. It'll be an ominous start if you lose in a fight with a girl."

"I think I can handle it. I won't provoke her, I just wanna see her."

"It's your funeral, I guess. Do try to come back in one piece, though."

It's refreshing to talk to Sidra this way. All I've ever known her as is Sidra the brainiac, not Sidra the person. Still, she has me unsettled with her calm, nonchalant way of saying things. I make my way back to the rear carriage where the bar is. The barman is fat and bald but obviously from the Capitol given his dress. He looks up and jumps on seeing me saying, "Young man, you startled me."

"Am, sorry."

"What can I get for you? Wine or beer or perhaps you had a stronger beverage in mind?"

"No thank you, besides, I'm underage."

"Haha, very funny, you know as a tribute those silly stipulations no longer apply."

That's intriguing. I've never had a drink bar some wine with my parents at the dinner table. However, that momentary contemplation is brushed aside as I see the view out the windows. We have entered the centre of the Capitol. The track approaches an ornate station sitting in the shadow of several monumental skyscrapers. I now fully understand the meaning of that word. The silvery buildings rise up and up brushing the clouds whilst smaller building rise up to meet their bases, giving the impression of a massive stepped pyramid. I see, too, that up high the buildings' balconies are abloom with flowers and gardens adorn the roofs. The splendour is hard to take in. The barman giggles and says, "It's a pretty sight all right. You folk nearly all react the same."

He didn't mean to be condescending but that's how I choose to take it. I'm quickly back on point and a lot sterner. I say, "I'm looking for a woman. I was told she was just here."

"Oh that one, crude and vulgar has-been, I stopped serving her when she kept running her foul mouth at me. She threatened me with a broken bottle so I had to get the Peacekeepers in. They threw her in a private cabin just up there at the rear of this carriage. Careful, I don't believe they could get the bottle off her."

I regard the man with hostility and he knows enough not to say more. I guess he's aware just what Careers are capable of. It's a short trot over to the cabin door. I knock but get no response. I can hear some movement inside and some moaning. She must be in a bad way. I think about just leaving it, but I get the urge to peek in. The door opens silently and I slip just my head into the small gap. The cabin is tiny with a single bed that takes up most of the floor space with a cabinet and a little, square window. Leandra is panned out on the bed, holding a bottle in her left hand and the other resting on the cabinet. It's what's on the cabinet that gets my immediate attention. Her fingertips rest on a syringe sitting in an ashtray with a small, partially drained plastic pouch nearby. Well now, isn't this just ideal? My mentor is not only a drunk but also a morphling. I didn't think my circumstances could get much worse, but I guess they just did.


	4. Chapter 4 Recast

CHAPTER 4: RECAST

As soon as I exit the train, my ears are assaulted by the screams of fanatical Capitol citizens all wanting a piece of this year's tributes from Province 1. I never before have been amongst this much insanity and noise. It's okay after a while, I think I'm after going partially deaf. I hope it's temporary because it is that sense that I have specifically trained. One of my best skills is to know when I'm being sneaked up on. Without it, I'll be history, assuming I get away from the Cornucopia. For once, I appreciate the presence of the Peacekeepers who hold back the crowds. I imagine these people are so senseless that if they were not restrained, they'd trample over each other and us in their feverish excitement. We are escorted to waiting cars and brought through heavily patrolled streets to our accommodation. I note that the citizens here have at least enough sense not to try to jump out in front of moving vehicles. The short journey follows a riverside road where I see ancient structures of stone with columns and grand entrances interspersed with modern buildings, some of which have very whimsical designs. The Three Towers at the centre of town, though, are nothing short of magnificent, displaying for all to see the power that resides here. The Tribute Apartments and Training Centre are located in a smaller building that sits in the shadows of these behemoths. That said, the building is not puny. It has twelve floors above ground and three under. It sits in the dead centre of the city just south of the Three Towers on the north bank of the river than runs through the middle of town, bisecting it.

When we arrive, we are ushered in to avoid more screaming fans that I can already see gathering around the building. The tributes for Province 1 generally stay in floors one through three and so on so forth for the other three provinces. The boys are always on the ground floor with the girls on the third with the second floor being a general-purpose room for dining and whatever other activities we choose to pursue in our off time.

Before we are brought to our rooms, though, there first comes the makeover.

Of course, people in my province maintain themselves through cleanliness and grooming but by Capitol standards, we are unkempt and horridly under-styled. Therefore, we are each required to undergo the sometimes painful and nearly always demeaning process of being done over in the Remake Centre. We each have our own prep team who see to it that we are presentable before we are introduced to our stylist. As I enter the centre, I have the immediate thought that it looks like some cruel torture chamber with its various sharp implements, strange and threatening-looking machines, and the beds equipped with restraints. I've been frightened with stories about this place by Joss and Leandra since I was a child. Apparently, some of the procedures are so painful that the tribute has to be held down. Joss once told me that some of the things they did to him made even him wince.

I sincerely hope they were exaggerating.

That hope, as with all else, is dashed as soon as Sidra escorts me as far as my prep team. She tells me she can't stay because she has to go tend to Leandra, who had to be carried off the train. Frankly, I'm relieved for as soon as she's back out the door, the humiliation begins. My prep team are all men as far as I can tell. With their multi-coloured, flashy, body-gripping outfits and copious layers of makeup, I could easily be mistaken. I can only be certain of the leader who is short, plump and eternally smiling with his neon green hair and similarly coloured jumpsuit. He says in a semi-mannish voice, "Okay, strip."

"Sorry?"

"Remove your clothes, young man."

"_All_ of them?"

"Yes all of them, you aren't shy, are you? What's a strapping young man like you got to be afraid of?"

That observation doesn't make me any more comfortable, but I do as I'm asked. Thankfully, there's a curtain drawn around my bed so I'm assured I won't have the eyes of every other male tribute and their prep teams on me. However, three pairs of eyes is demeaning enough, especially when they're scrutinising you and making comments. The lead, named Adoremus, says, "This is a conundrum, is it not?"

A thinner, taller male with purple, spiked hair and nails painted the same colour says, "His physique is definitely athletic, but the body hair might appeal to some of the female spectators."

"True but they would be of the older generation. The rugged look was in vogue like fifteen years ago. The new generation wants smooth, perfectly toned male tributes, and they are the group we're targeting most."

"So shall I break out the wax strips?"

"Hmm, yes, I think that's the route we'll take with this one." He then looked me in the eye and said, "By the way, young man, seeing as we're trying to pull off this Adonis, almost statue-like look, you're going have to work on that stomach."

"Sorry?"

"Well, you have the muscles, there's no doubting that, but you also have a bit of softness around your belly and sides if you get what I mean."

"But I train constantly; I don't have a pick on me."

"Perhaps by Province 1 standards you don't but here you need a bit more definition. I recommend several hundred crunches a day, you can talk to your mentor about whatever other training is necessary, stay away from all the junk food you're inevitably going to encounter here and with some luck, you'll be in shape before the parade. Oh one moment…" He skips over to drawer and pulls out a small clear container with some kind of tablets in it. He says, "Take one, no, two of these a day."

"What do they do?"

"They make your body shed fat, young man. There are some side effects like vomiting and diarrhoea, but it's just part of the process. Make sure not to take any on Parade Day, though, can't have you throwing up on the horses."

I haven't a clue what to say, but I wouldn't get a chance to respond anyways. I am told to lie flat on the bed and stay still. Waxing is a concept I am only vaguely familiar with. Certain ladies in my town, my mother included, do get wax strips imported from the Capitol. It seems so unnecessary to me because they are primarily for leg hair and women in Province 1, even the most daring, wear dresses to at least below the knee. I learn with the first rip that their use is not limited to the legs. At sixteen, I'm perhaps not as furry as my elders but having the hairs torn by the root from your chest and nipple is still not a pain-free experience. I choke, stopping myself from yelping with the shock and I have barely recovered when the next strip tears the hair from my mid-chest. It goes on like that for an interminable amount of time. Burning wax goes on, strip on top of that, and hair comes off. I grit my teeth so much that I'm afraid I'll crack them. My body is so tense in anticipation of the next terrible rip. I take some solace from the fact that I think I can hear the O' Reilly brothers undergoing the same procedure in the neighbouring cubicle, and they're not being quite as dignified about the experience as I am. I smile momentarily but then another strip comes off.

When they finally finish, they inform me that it took exactly ninety minutes even though it seemed hours longer than that. I was relieved when they didn't use the wax strips on any of my more private areas, but they did insist on a lot of trimming, especially of my armpit hair. The O' Reillys are still whinging and whining when I'm done. They are as Adoremus would put it more "rugged" than I am. Finally, I'm allowed some dignity and given a flimsy garment much like a hospital gown to cover myself. Even though it's fairly soft, my skin is raw and sore. Everywhere the fabric touches me there is an intense tingling so it's hard to stay still when Adoremus is attending to my nails. He is completed aghast at their condition. I'm a guy, so my nails don't really concern me beyond their length. I cut them occasionally when they're too long or too much dirt has gathered behind them. Adoremus, however, insists on cleaning them, filing them into shape, and polishing them. He also made me soak my hands in some watery lotion to heal my cuticles, which he described as peeling monstrosities. The one with the purple hair, whose name I learned is Felicio, and the other who has jet-black hair but with skin dyed a pale blue and named Marcel, are both attempting to perform the same procedure on my toenails. I think the fact that it's taking two of them to do it gives a fair indication of how bad they are.

After my poor prep team have finished with that arduous task, they begin administering the final touches. My hair is trimmed into a more close-cut look, certain hairs are plucked from my eyebrows and wherever the wax strips missed, and I am scrubbed down with a strange lotion I've never used before. My mother has all sorts of concoctions loaded into our shower unit back home, and it probably includes this one, but I only ever use a basic shampoo and shower gel. This gel has beads mixed into it that scratch my skin and dissolve slowly. It isn't the most comfortable thing to have on freshly waxed skin but I grim and bear it. They all become visibly pale at the amount of dirt and dead skin they get off me, and here's me thinking I clean myself thoroughly. They are similarly distraught when they start working on my scalp, which is absolutely ridden with dandruff. Once it's all over, I feel sensations ranging from tingly to horrible irritation. My skin feels extremely tender and to be honest, I feel vulnerable in a strange way. Perhaps this bareness just makes me feel younger, less mature.

I am horrified to learn that I'll be meeting my stylist with the O' Reilly brothers, right at this moment. I feel idiotic in this gown, my only consolation being that when the curtains are pulled, Korvin and Festus look just as ridiculous. They seem to have taken the procedures a little less well than I did. Korvin can't leave a spot on his upper back alone, probably where he had a particularly dense patch of hair, and Festus is walking very funnily hinting that his prep team might have had a little mishap in a sensitive place. Although every tribute has their own prep team, the three boys and three girls of each province have only a stylist each. Our three prep areas are in their own room and whilst Joss told me his stylist met him later at the apartments, ours seems to want to get right down to work. When he enters, he is not what I'd hoped for. For one, he's old and in the Capitol, old means old-fashioned. There are simply too many trends and ideas floating around for anyone but the young to keep up. After a decade or two trying desperately to look like lamb when underneath you're mutton, you would get fed-up, eventually. However, it's said that people have artificially extended lives in the Capitol so I've no idea what their concept of young is. For all I know this greying man before me who looks in his sixties could be twice that.

The prep teams are very deferential to him, though, almost worshipping the ground he walks on, so maybe that's a good sign. He is wearing a rather subdued suit, though, something you wouldn't even be ashamed to wear in Settlement 2. He's also very rotund and has an unhealthy look about his face with bags under his eyes and badly wrinkled skin. In a place where appearances are everything, I am surprised the other Capitol folk don't find him repulsive. He observes us through bleary eyes and says clinically, "Your heights are suitable I suppose. Your teams did a reasonable job of making your faces television worthy." Some of the team members practically swoon as though that comment is the height of praise. I believe for a second that Adoremus might faint with joy. The man paces slowly before us and says, "Could you remove those hideous gowns? I need to see what I have to work with."

I am so far beyond embarrassment in regards my prep team that it doesn't really bother me if this wizened old stylist and more of his cronies see me naked. However, being in that state in front of Korvin and Festus is not at all appealing. I have never used the facilities in the Training Centre back home after a session and just jog home instead and shower there. Why would I give them even more opportunities to harass me? Yet I don't think this man is the kind who appreciates being kept waiting so I undo the gown and just stare at a point on the wall opposite the brothers. They seem more hesitant than I was for some reason. Maybe they are taken aback by how nonchalantly I obeyed our stylist's request. They delay a moment too long. "You two, I may be misinformed but I believe English is widely spoken in Province 1. I requested you remove those gowns. Now do it!"

They are shocked enough by this sudden, shrill command to react immediately. I remain unfazed or my best approximation of it. That is until I unfortunately glance down on Festus and have to stifle a laugh. I thought I heard him shout a little loudly earlier on or perhaps squeal is a better term. Well, I must not mock, I'd probably screech, too, had I lost half my pubic hair to a wax strip. I think the stylist noticed, too. He cocked an eyebrow and looked very displeased. He then said, "My name is Augustine Boyle. You may have heard of me."

I have to admit the name does sound familiar. However, it resonates only vaguely, I think he was once a famous stylist of the games, perhaps before the time of Joss's father, Darius. He must have retired years ago or someone of his calibre would have had Province 1 every year. Neither Joss nor Leandra have mentioned him before. I wonder why he has chosen now to make a reappearance. Perhaps he wants one last hurrah before he becomes too senile to be any use anymore. He'll probably get this year and the Quarter Quell out it anyways. He continues, "I will not be easy on you, and I will make certain demands of you to ensure the best performance possible. If you want sponsors, you will co-operate, for if you execute my theme well enough, no other tributes will be remembered. Fail me, and no matter how good you are in the arena, I can ensure not a single gift is sent to you. I know everyone worth knowing in the Capitol; do _not_ make me look bad."

I gulp at that. He then says, "Adoremus, provide them with suitable attire and escort them to the apartments."

"Yes, sir."

"And Adoremus, who is responsible for the wax job on this one?" He says ominously, indicating Festus.

He points at a young woman who couldn't be much older than me who sports bright yellow hair held up in some towering do. She quivers in fear as his eyes come to rest on her, and he says, "Finish what you started, young madam."

"Sir?"

"Well we can't have him uneven. Wax the rest."

Festus looks horrified, but he is hustled along almost immediately by Adoremus and a few others from the various prep teams. Augustine grabs the girl by the arm as she leaves and says threateningly, "Another mistake like that, young madam, and you'll never see the inside of a side-street beauticians let alone this place. Am I being clear?"

The woman is almost in tears but holds them in to prevent her makeup from being ruined. Korvin and I are given clothes that somewhat resemble the tribute uniforms but are more comfortable than functional. I fret for a few moments about what possible "theme" he could be talking about. I hope Augustine's irritation over the waxing mishap was merely professional criticism and that he isn't planning to parade us in front of all of Paneire nude.

The prep team hands us off to Camille and Sidra who escort us out of the Remake Centre to a lift, which takes us to our apartments. The buttons for the Province 1 floors are labelled 1A to 1C. The other floors are labelled identically with only the number varying as you go further up. The lift goes right up through the core of the cylindrical tower so we can't see out, but the view that greets us when we arrive is breath-taking. The general-purpose floor for our Province is circular fitting in with the shape of the whole building. A short flight of marble stairs leads down into a central area meant to be a sitting room with large sofas centred around a television set. Off to the left is some kind of kitchenette but it is only equipped with a fridge, freezer and some utensils. Clearly, we won't be preparing any of our food. To the right is a games room equipped with harmless computer games consoles and board games. Obviously, they wouldn't give us a pool table or a darts board in case we used the cues or darts as weapons. What impresses me most though is the whole opposite wall made entirely of glass, providing a stunning vista facing south. The river meanders in the foreground, the Capitol stretching on beyond that and in the distance, we can just glimpse the mountains of County 4. It is evening now so the lights of the Capitol are just coming on against a crimson sky, a spectacle of such vibrancy I'm left speechless.

I notice neither Festus nor the girls have arrived yet. Camille and Sidra pretty much leave us to our own devices after that, only giving us instructions to return to our floor and not to attempt visiting any of the others, including the girls' apartment. I blush at that, especially seeing as it's coming from my sister, but Korvin smirks as though he's thinking he's totally going to disobey that. As soon as they leave, I find myself alone with one of the O' Reillys for the first time ever. It's not a circumstance I'm enjoying and retiring to my room seems very wise right about now. Korvin intercedes before I can lift a finger, though. "So, Mulqueen, what's your play?"

I hate it when he and his brother call me by my second name as if it is somehow demeaning. I reply, "What are you talking about?"

"You know, volunteering for my brother, acting all brave and noble, you trying to win the sympathy vote?"

I make a disgusted sound and say, "You're a piece of work, Korvin."

"Is that right?"

"Yes, it is. You think what I did was some kind of ploy to win public favour. Well then, you're an idiot…"

He stands. "I'll kick your head in you…"

"Shut up, if you had taken one look at your parents when Aleron was reaped, you'd understand what I did. Are you seriously saying you wouldn't have volunteered for him given the chance?"

"What do I care if he gets selected?"

"He's your little brother, you should care."

"He's a runt and a mommy's boy. His existence is embarrassing to me. Had you not volunteered then he would have been one more tribute in the way?"

"You're saying you'd have killed him if he was the last one between you and victory?"

"Why not, it would definitely improve my home life anyways."

"And what if it comes down to you and Festus? Will he be just another tribute in the way?"

"Yeah, yeah he will."

I timed it perfectly because Festus had just limped in as I'd asked the question. He looks at his brother with a mixture of fury and hurt that his twin would so callously dismiss him as just another contestant. Don't get me wrong when I say this, they're both idiotic brutes, but Korvin has some ambition and conniving about him. Festus, on the other hand, can only be described as naïve and trusting, which is why he's let his brother lead him about by the nose his whole life. I suspect things might be different for the foreseeable future. I excuse myself as the tension in room reaches suffocating levels.

I get in the lift to head back down to the boys' floor. As soon as the doors part, though, I am faced with a flustering sight. Pallantia, Tori, and Ignatia, all done up in makeup and prepped from head to toe, and all of them stark naked. Their stylist is a middle-aged woman who just sends them off and leaves the building. They all just waltz into the lift without a care and stand uncomfortably close. I honestly don't know which way to look because everywhere I do look I'm staring at something I really shouldn't be. They start talking as though I'm not there. Tori says, "That stylist was fair pervy, wasn't she?"

Pallantia replied, "I know, I heard that there are same-sex couples in the Capitol. Maybe she's looking for a significant other."

"Well you better watch out then because she stared at you pretty hard."

"Oh shut up, anyhow, she was very mannish. You'd suit her much better, you're all petite and perky."

"Thank you, she wouldn't really be gone in lanky skanks like you."

Pallantia shoves her jokily and Tori's butt presses squarely against my crotch. It was slightly painful but that unfortunately doesn't suppress my arousal. She turns and says in a totally fake way, "Oh, Cato, didn't even notice you were there."

Pallantia flashes me a grin and says, "Yeah, you shouldn't be so silent all the time. You should hang out with Tori more, she'll have you making all sorts of noises."

"Okay, so I'm a whore, we got the memo, Pallantia. Anyway, life's more fun when you spread yourself around. I mean look at Ignatia, the stick's rammed so far up her ass we can't even see it anymore. She clearly hasn't had an ounce of fun in her life."

Ignatia doesn't even acknowledge their comments except for a noticeable twitch in her lip. The lift stops and she marches straight off. Pallantia sighs and says, "Poor girl, try being a little more sensitive, Tori, do you think she likes being a frigid virgin?"

"Oh dear, how thoughtless of me, well, perhaps she'll be open to some of that same-sex stuff. Maybe our stylist will be desperate enough."

They laugh cruelly after her and I hear a door slam. I guess icy Ignatia has feelings after all. Pallantia walks off followed by Tori but just before the doors close Tori stands hands pressed against them with her naked body framed in the doorway, facing me. She says, "I'm afraid, Cato, that this is as far as you go. You know what our escorts said, no sneaking into each other's apartments."

"I-ah, I wasn't thinking…"

"Of course you were, seriously, how could you not?" She stops a moment and raises one eyebrow, looking downward. She says, "Hmm, my, my, my, well, I guess what they say about you Mulqueens isn't true after all. Impress me a little more and I might consider an invitation. Bye-bye, big boy."

She pulls away from the door and it slides closed. I look down and I turn purple with embarrassment. Unfortunately, the fabric of my trousers doesn't leave much to the imagination, especially in this state. Too late I realise the lift is taking me back to the general purpose floor. I try my best to conceal my arousal and get ready to press the button again as soon as it stops. However, I arrive to find the room thrashed with broken glass and vases, upturned sofas, and smashed wooden furniture. The room is crowded with about a dozen Peacekeepers and our escorts. Even Leandra has shown up. I see Festus being carried this way on a stretcher and make way. He's bleeding badly from several wounds to his chest and abdomen. The medics desperately try to stem the flow. Korvin is handcuffed and looking very roughed-up. Obviously, they came to blows and Korvin, as always, fought dirty. I guess he wasn't lying. He really would kill his own brother to be victor. Unfortunately for him, fighting amongst tributes is strictly forbidden before the games, even for training purposes. This could have been just a brotherly scuffle and they would have gotten a slap on the wrist for it, but Korvin nearly killed him and since we're outside the arena, that counts as attempted murder. The Peacekeepers march him out once the lift returns. Just before he goes, Leandra says, "Wait, just one moment."

She stands in front of Korvin, looking him right in the eyes. Next to this beast my sister looks miniscule, like a young child with an adult. It doesn't stop her from delivering a nasty right hook to his already bruised nose, though. Korvin stumbles back with the force as blood rushes from his now broken nose. He actually tries to retaliate but the Peacekeepers drag him away. Before the doors close, she says, "You better hope they kill you, Korvin, for I'll do you a whole lot worse for this embarrassment."

As soon as he's gone, Leandra turns on me and slaps me across the cheek. I am not hurt, it wasn't intended to, but it is humiliating. I feel anger towards my drunkard of a sister and Korvin's idea to strike back seems very appealing but unlike him, I'm no fool. "Well, I didn't expect gameplay from you. I guess you're more devious than I thought."

"What?"

"Turning those two against each other, it wasn't very hard mind you but very well timed. In another respect, your timing was horrible. If Festus dies then Korvin will be put to death for murder, and we'll be down two tributes. As it is, even if Festus survives, his brother may still be executed for his crime."

"What difference does it make? They would've killed each other in the arena anyways."

"And that's perfectly legal but are you aware of the rules surrounding the loss of a tribute before the games?"

"No."

"It's very simple really. If a tribute, due to unforeseen circumstances, dies naturally, through an accident, is murdered, or executed, then it falls to the family of the tribute to replace them. The O' Reillys have only one child left who is eligible to participate, two guesses who that is."

"…Aleron."

"Aleron, so you're noble gesture at the reaping might well have been for naught and if they both die, you've also condemned another unready Career to participate and most likely die. So, Cato, do us all a favour and keep your scheming for the games or at least, run it by one of us first."

"Indeed I will, dear sister, as long as you are sober enough to understand what I'm saying."

She grimaces and punches me square in the chest, winding me. It takes me but a few moments to recover. She didn't really throw all her strength into it, not like with Korvin. Her expression, though, looks stricken, is she actually going to cry? She storms off towards the elevator. Camille looks distinctly uncomfortable caught in the middle of this family drama and smoothly excuses himself. Sidra is last to leave. She looks at me disapprovingly saying, "It was unnecessary to be so cruel."

"What do you mean? There was nothing untrue about what I said."

"You don't know much about Leandra, Cato, and nothing about her past, especially in the games. Think about that before you criticise her problems so openly."

"I don't understand."

She walks into the lift and before she presses a button, she says, "Think about it, Cato. Do you really think someone as proud as Leandra becomes an alcoholic and a morphling because she enjoys it?"

"Her coping mechanism, I remember."

"Hmm, you don't even know the half of it. Tomorrow's a big day, Cato. Get some sleep."

I have no idea what that comment means. I know Leandra was responsible for most of the deaths in her games, and that has to affect anyone, but it's been years and Leandra's tough. I sense there's more, something I'm missing, but it eludes me. I go down to the boy's floor and fall into my bed without turning on a light or undressing. The building is so eerily quiet. I try to settle into sleep but my mind is too preoccupied with the evening's events. For once, I wish something resembling good will towards the O' Reilly brothers. If Aleron is forced to take their place, then my sacrifice will truly be for nothing.


	5. Chapter 5 Paraded

CHAPTER 5: PARADED

The next morning, I am awoken early by Camille's relentless pounding on my door. I am concerned momentarily that he is anxiously bringing me news of Festus's death and Korvin's execution. His voice sounds dully through my door but I realise there is no nervous edge to it. I answer it without even dressing. The doors part and he's there, all smiles as per usual. He claps his hands together, gives me an appraising look, and says, "Well then, don't we look energetic this morning."

Wearily, I ask, "Is it time?"

"Time for what, my boy?"

_Please don't refer to me as "my boy". _"The parade…"

"Oh, yes, of course, that won't be till early evening, though. We do have a lot of preparation beforehand. However, you won't be wearing much more than you are now."

"Please tell me we won't be naked."

"Oh dear, no, that's not in at the moment. We _are_ leaning towards partial nudity for the costume, however. It's a gladiatorial theme."

My, how original, the Province of Careers has a warrior-themed costume. Alas, I hadn't been expecting anything off the beaten track given who we are and who our stylist is. Invariably, the tributes for Province 1 have been dressed as soldiers and warriors of every shape and form. When Joss was in the games, his costume for the parade was that of a commando wearing khaki pants and a vest of similar colouring while wielding a very quaint-looking rifle. Last year's tributes wore suits of armour and carried swords. I remember the suits were so bulky and cumbersome that the tributes couldn't even raise their arms to wave to the crowd. As a result, people thought they were rude and arrogant and so last year's tributes received few sponsors, which was part of the reason Province 2 won. It occurs to me that it may also be the reason we have a new stylist this year. The young man who filled the role last year hasn't been heard of or seen since. I mull over our theme in my head and realise that it is a little out there merely for the fact that it hasn't been tried in my lifetime. In fact, I believe the last time an even remotely similar theme was used was the last Quarter Quell where Darius met his end. I remember watching footage and seeing him dressed in a tunic, a breastplate, and a helmet whilst wielding a javelin. I sense what is being planned for us is in the same vein or from the same era. Camille breaks into my train of thought, saying, "I suggest you still get dressed, though. The Capitol women are very faint-hearted and if you strut around in your undies, you might cause some deliria."

"Am, okay, give me a moment."

"Splendid, after breakfast, we will head to the Remake Centre and get you and your fellows all dolled up and perfect for the big parade."

"Camille, how are Festus and Korvin?"

Camille twitches just once but keeps his expression even. Clearly, last night's events still have him rattled. Despite actively associating with the games and all the violence they entail, I doubt he really understands the reality of what happens in them. I imagine what happened between the O' Reilly brothers last night is something he has never witnessed in person. He probably hasn't seen blood either except from a botched wax maybe. He replies, "Oh, you needn't worry, my boy. They are well. Festus will be ready for the parade this evening and since he's okay, Korvin was pardoned and released back to our custody. Why he's out there now shovelling food into himself for all he's worth. You might want to hurry or you'll have to wait until more food is delivered."

Great, so I have to face him over the breakfast table. I make little effort with my hair or to clean myself except to quickly scrub my teeth. I throw on a plain t-shirt, loose-fitting pants and slip-on shoes. I make my way to the lift and press the button for floor 1B. On arriving, I see I have even more company for breakfast than I thought. Leandra is nearest me nursing a hangover no doubt and cradling a strong cup of coffee. Across from her is Sidra having nothing but a bowl of fruit salad with yoghurt. The girls are seated down from her, in order, Tori, Pallantia, and Ignatia. Korvin sits two seats down from Leandra in front of Ignatia and, as Camille said, is wolfing down food like it will disappear any second. He keeps his head down and everyone else just looks in any direction but his. As I step off the elevator, it immediately closes and heads down to the girl's floor. Camille is obviously coming to make some announcement. So I am left with two options: either I sit beside my sister who I mortally offended last night or beside Korvin who I tricked into revealing his true nature to all, including his brother. I choose my sister for although she might want to beat the crap out of me, she isn't intent on murdering me and making sure I suffer. I take my seat gingerly, trying not to disturb Leandra who appears to be at that really sensitive stage of a hangover that means any slight movement or vibration is torture. No one seems to note my arrival in any way. Tori glances up at me and has a slight smirk on her face but I pretend not to notice. I pour myself some coffee and scoop some readymade porridge into a bowl for myself. Leandra eyes my meagre breakfast and says, "Eat some protein, Cato."

"I'm not very hungry, thank you."

"I wasn't asking. I'd prefer that when you enter the games that you retain what little meat there is on your bones."

Tori giggles there for some reason, probably some innuendo that came to mind. I sigh and throw some poached eggs and grilled sausages onto a plate. I'm in no mood to argue and to say the same about Leandra would be a grave understatement. I haven't even had a bite when Camille appears. He prances over to the head of the table and says, "Good morning, such a beautiful day, is it not?"

Leandra closes her eyes, creases emerging over her forehead. Camille's high-pitched greeting obviously did nothing for her headache. I hadn't even noticed the weather outside. Glancing out, the sun is still relatively low on the horizon, but the sky is a perfect azure blue with not a cloud in sight. The glass of ten thousand building glints in the sunlight, the green areas seeming somehow more verdant encompassed by this glimmering halo. Camille continued, "Now, to our agenda for the day, we first have to get you all fitted, have to make sure those outfits are perfect 'cause that's what this parade is all about, perfection! We have to stand out, we have to shine! Let us not have a repeat of that travesty last year."

Pallantia asked, "I thought we were going to be like naked."

"Dearie me, no, how many times must I reiterate this? _Partial_ nudity, my dear, that means some clothes."

"Party pooper."

"What was that, my dear?"

She replies sweetly, "Nothing, Camille, nothing at all."

"Right, after that though, we move on to cosmetics. What is on show will have to be perfect and that may require several hours. We won't be late of course, however, for our grand entrance. Our chariots are the first to disembark after all."

Province 1's chariots would be first to enter the Grand Square that sits behind the Training Centre, its south side. Its western, eastern, and northern flanks are demarcated by the Three Towers. The Northern Tower is the seat of power where the Taoiseach and Uachtarain reside. They are the two people who wield virtually all the power in the Capitol and Paineire at large. The Taoiseach, or Prime Minister, takes care of most the little details, the drudgework essentially whilst the Uachtarain, or President, makes the executive decisions, mostly on the important stuff. Each county does have a mayor who resides in the main settlement, but each of the thirty-two mayors answers directly to the Taoiseach. Both of them will be seated atop a balcony that overlooks the Grand Square from the Northern Tower along with some of their close aides and confidants, the nobility nearest the throne it could be said. Make no mistake; they do sit upon two grand chairs that might as well be thrones with their towering backs and ornate, cushioned armrests. I've seen them enough on the televised parades before each and every games as far back as I can remember. In fact, the two of them have ruled together for the past twenty-five years. Theirs has been the longest reign of any of Paneire's leaders. I know enough about our history to know that prior to their ascension to the throne, leaders often died mysteriously or disappeared, never to be seen again. Usually a president would die and his or her prime minister would happen to assume the position or a prime minister would pass away to be replaced by someone more capable or loyal. Often it was the prime minister who would be picked off the most, for everyone in the Capitol's nobility knows that if that position opens up, it's just one step up to the presidency. No one here or beyond would ever openly say that there were assassinations going on or even any deliberate power play. It just wasn't discussed for it would be treasonous to disparage the character of the current rulers.

I can't say I know how our rulers, Uachtarain Alexander Hayes and Taoiseach Marianne O' Shea, have kept from following the fate of their predecessors, but it might have something to do with their closeted existences. They are rarely seen outside the Northern Tower and never outside the Capitol. Rumours have even circulated that they have all their food and drink tested before consuming them and each take a daily dose of poison antidotes. I suppose it does help your survival chances if you avoid people in general. I only wish I had that option. Unfortunately, from here to the games, I will be literally smothered by people's attentions and if I try to isolate myself in the arena, I'm sure the Gamemakers will find a way to drive me back to my peers. I'm munching on my eggs as Camille continues, "Now, finish here quickly, ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to be down in the Remake Centre in, oh, fifteen minutes. I'm sure we'll all have a fantastic time! So chop-chop, you especially, Cato, you still have a lot of grub to get in you."

"You heard the man." Leandra said, but she sounded to be mocking him somewhat.

Just then, Festus steps off the lift. He is being escorted by a female Peacekeeper. She seems to be helping him along as he looks to be woozy, seemingly under the influence of a drug, probably moirfin, a less potent version of the painkiller that morphlings dose themselves up on. Nevertheless, she is armed and eyeing Korvin intently. Korvin freezes mid-chew and pushes his platter of food away. He looks furtively in his brother's direction, at least he thinks he is, it's totally obvious to everyone at the table. Leandra casts her eyes to heaven with impatience and says, "Right, I don't care if you two kiss and make up or if you make a point of standing thirty feet apart at all times, that's up to you. However, any repeats of last night, and I will guarantee you will have no sponsors and that the other tributes get gifted some very significant advantages. Are we clear?"

Festus nodded wearily but Korvin replied, "Weren't you going to do that anyways?"

"What was that, Korvin?" She stood up from her chair and stood over him.

"Well with your brother here, it's pretty clear what's gonna happen. He'll get all the good stuff, and you'll leave the rest of us out in the cold. That's if you're sober enough to remember his name, of course."

What I'd said was just as bad, but he has even less right to say it so openly. I am prepared to respond. I turn the carving knife in my hand and know I could throw it close enough to his head to frighten him at least. Leandra, however, deals with it less subtly, catching him by the scruff of his neck and smacking his face into the table. His forehead catches the end of his platter and he comes up with egg yolk in his hair. Tori and Pallantia burst out laughing, and even Ignatia cracks a smile. Camille is aghast, clearly unaccustomed to such uncouth behaviour. Leandra says, "And let that be my final word on that topic. You will all receive equal treatment. That means equal sponsorship as I can get it. That is my job and if I couldn't do that objectively then I wouldn't be here. Also, I won't have any more comments on my drinking habits. I will remain sober enough to be of use to you lot. That's it. Now, Camille, do what you will with them. I need a whiskey."

I wolf down the rest of my breakfast before we're herded down to the Remake Centre. Once there, we enter the level below the one where we got our initial makeovers. This level is specifically for prep work for the parade. It features eight dressing rooms, one for each set of boys and each set of girls from the four provinces. Once we step out from those, though, we enter a stable where the horses that draw our chariots are kept. Each province has two chariots, one for the boys and one for the girls, and they file out beside each other, boys to the left and girls to the right. Province 1 takes centre stage, leading the parade, and once our horses stop, the others have to veer around us to take their final positions. Joss once suggested to me that subtle little things such as that were purposely there to illicit jealousy and resentment from the other provinces, therefore ensuring that we never unite against the Capitol as we did before. To even suggest that in public would mean death, but Joss is never afraid of hiding his opinions, as long as he's got the four walls of our home around him.

When myself, Korvin, and Festus enter our dressing room, we are greeted by our personal stylist, Augustine. Once again, we are ordered to remove our clothes and stand before him while our prep teams begin the process of fitting our costumes. Camille wasn't kidding when he said we wouldn't be wearing much. The brothers are fitted with a scrap of red fabric that resembles underwear and black cloaks. They are given helmets, too, that quickly have to be adjusted to fit their heads. The helmets are silver with a red frill protruding from the top. Since I'm shorter than both of them, I will stand in the middle and slightly in front. The chariots are designed as such that the person in front is lower down but noticeably ahead of those standing on the raised platform at the back. I am presented with what is essentially a skirt. I know there's probably a proper name for it, but it isn't a tunic or a toga. It is knee-length, made of red fabric underneath with black leather pleats running down it on all sides. The material is scratchy and the leather strips run past the red fabric and rub against my legs, causing me further irritation. I feel stupid in it, even when they give me a leather sheath with a short sword in it to put around my waist. I'm also given one of those garish helmets. The two brothers are presented with javelins and the look is complete. We are gladiators from some bygone era that no one in the audience will have any clue of and so will be judging us based on these costumes without benefit of any historical reference.

_We're screwed_.

I sense it'll be another bad year for Province 1. The soldier/warrior look is so completely overdone and has definitely fallen out of favour. Even before the debacle last year, it was clear that the audience were definitely underwhelmed by Province 1's parade costumes for the previous five games at least. Decades ago, even before Darius's games, tributes were dressed in outfits representing what their province produced. True, Province 1 was known for Careers then just as it is now and themes representing that fact popped up now and again, but most years there were striking, outrageous, and even humorous costumes themed around the many luxury items that we produce. Tributes might come out dripping in jewels or fruit or even wear clothes coloured, patterned, and/or textured like tealeaves, cigarettes, or fine wines. Sometimes they got an uproarious laugh from the Capitol folk, but they were always remembered by sponsors. These days, we've become predictable and that means boring. Boring definitely doesn't get you sponsored. Augustine, despite his generally foul disposition, seems very pleased with his work. I try not to show my lack of enthusiasm for his choices and avoid scratching or standing awkwardly. Festus smiles shyly. I don't know if its just that the moirfin hasn't worn off yet, but he seems very pleased with the look, almost giddy. Korvin, too, seems quite satisfied with it but in an arrogant way. That boy is way too impressed with himself.

We're allowed some refreshments and light snacks as the prep teams prepare their products for whatever finishing touches they intend to do on us. We're given literally ten minutes before we're told to stand in place whilst the prep teams powder and pencil our bodies with such copious amounts of makeup that I have to resist the urge to sneeze. Adoremus directs this assault on my person whilst Felicio and Marcel are the perpetrators. A lot of the pots contain skin coloured powders and more creamy products that when applied, totally even out my skin tone, making it seem unnaturally perfect. The effect reminds me somewhat of the appearance of white marble. Clearly, they're trying to make us look like living statues, which might play to our advantage, as my Province does mine marble, but I can't place the county at the moment. However, the prep team really show their talent for artistic fakery when they break out their array of coloured pencils that differ only vaguely in shade. Nevertheless, Felicio takes his time deliberating over which ones to select and eventually pops one in-between his teeth and starts scrawling on my stomach with the other. Looking down, it's hard to tell what he's doing, but I glance over at Festus and then I understand. His team have already drawn lines across his stomach and chest to perfectly represent shadow thereby making his muscles appear more defined. I have to admit that they did a good job, considering it's Festus. The guy might be built like a bear, but he does tend to be a little bit paunchy around the middle. I'm leaner so Felicio's job is made easier. I'm done in about an hour. When I see myself in a nearby mirror, I think it looks garish and overdone. No one could possibly look this way without drugs. I know this because they're one of the few things that are banned in the games. We could easily be feed steroids every day and become overmuscled freaks, but the Gamemakers deem that unfair. What's more likely is that it would give us an unfair advantage and the games would be over too quickly.

After the finishing touches are put on our face and body makeup, we are escorted to the stables. There we meet up with the girls. I think the brother's eyes literally fell out of their heads when they saw them and I had a hard time not staring openly myself. Pallantia and Tori sport a two-piece with a top that consists of two loops of material that run from their shoulders across one breast and then around their sides. They might as well be wearing sashes pulled tight for all the coverage it gives them. The bottom piece is somewhat similar to what I am wearing only theirs barely goes down their thigh, revealing a lot of leg. They each carry a dagger in a sheath at their waist. Ignatia is dressed more "demurely" with a similar bottom piece but she wears a breastplate that almost looks like a metal corset. It covers all of her torso until you look at her chest, which is noticeably heaved upwards by the tight-fitting garment. She carries a pair of daggers in two sheaths at her sides. Their makeup isn't as extreme as ours was with only subtle shadowing to emphasize their muscle tone, but their skin is painted that alabaster shade that makes their hair and eyes really pop. Tori and Pallantia snigger. Tori says, "Sorry, boys, we can't have you smudging us."

Korvin says stupidly, "Wha-what do you mean?"

Pallantia replies, "You can look but you can't touch, Korvin, at least not till later."

"Hehe, can I hold you to that offer?"

"Possibly, but you better impress when you hold me."

Those two girls can manipulate the brothers like putty in their hands. I try not to be taken in by their duplicity and their flirtatious natures and their svelte bodies and…well; it's hard, let's just leave it at that. Camille is almost immediately along to ruin the girls' fun and literally shoos them towards their chariot whilst ushering us onto our own. We know our positions. The brothers climb on first whilst I am last to board the chariot. Province 1's chariots, like all the others, are drawn by a pair of horses each. They are all snowy white with long manes that flow down their shoulders. They are perfectly trained and get even the timing of their departure right without need of someone to guide their reins. One of them regards me with its black eyes. Its expression is almost sad.

_Wow, that's reassuring. Even the horse thinks I'm doomed._

In the next second, we're off. I almost fall backward and thereafter, it takes a lot of strength to keep myself standing. It's hard to balance and so I am forced to hold myself rigid, but I know in a few seconds I will be expected to wave and smile at the crowds that have gathered. After a while, though, it becomes easier, and I risk looking around. Province 2's chariots are directly behind us, drawn by two pairs of iron-grey horses. Province 2 tributes win almost as much as tributes from my own province and looking at them, it's clear why, they are huge. I'm not joking, the three boys are so massive and tall that they make the O' Reilly brothers look petite. Even the girl tributes would pose a challenge to myself in a fight if skill wasn't taken into account. Where we provide the Capitol with luxuries, Province 2 provides them with necessities. Their building materials, their tools, their vehicles, their furniture, their electronics, their weapons, they manufacture all of it. They are also contracted out to do stints in the Capitol and elsewhere in Paneire doing construction work or major repairs on buildings, railways, and roads. Given that the majority of their work is physical and they do it their whole lives from an early age, the people of Province 2 are nearly all robust and muscular with unrivalled endurance. If you ever see a scrawny Province 2 tribute then you know they work with electronics, the least physically demanding occupation they undertake. In fact, it's usually when Province 2 makes a poor showing in terms of the physicality of its tributes that Province 1 wins. Our skill with weaponry and hand-to-hand combat gives us an edge, though, so the breakdown of victories since the games began is roughly fifty percent for us to Province 2's forty. The remaining ten percent accounts for the rare occasions when either Province 3 or 4 have won.

I can't see their chariots very well, but I know Province 3 are usually in some sort of costume representing the ocean, sailing, or fishing which is mainly what they specialise in, and their chariots are usually drawn by two deep grey horses with patches of white, think the colour of a stormy sea with frothing waves. I catch a glimpse of one of the boys, a lanky kid, and he appears to be dressed in a one-piece with the patterning of sanded wood on it. He also has a thick rope with an anchor at one end thrown about his neck like a scarf. It seems to unbalance him somewhat. 3 is the only province that constructs its own vehicles as they are the only ones with the skill to build boats. Province 4 is the farming and forestry district. The entire eastern half of the province is endless tracts of fields and cropland. The west is a dense forest, but most of it consists of fast-growing softwood trees that are grown for twenty or so years and then chopped down. Few places in Paneire are truly wild. I definitely can't make out their tributes, but their chariots are drawn by chestnut brown horses and their outfits can range from stylised farmer's garb to similarly outlandish loggers' kits to farm animal and tree costumes. Generally speaking, their stylists are desperate for them to stand out, so much so that they often make them a laughingstock. The fact that their stylists are often young beginners doesn't help.

We're about to climb out of the stables and reach street level. I prepare to ingratiate myself to the hollering crowds. I hope I can pull it off. I can hear them now, so loud that it's hard to hear the opening music that's booming across the city. We emerge into the light of a summer's evening and the crowds go even wilder than before. I start waving and smiling as I am expected to do. I think our costumes are meeting more approval this year, but it wouldn't be hard to beat last year's offering. I know we've lost them immediately when Province 2 comes up behind. The boys are wearing unitards that are cut away at the shoulder to reveal their bulging arms. The one-piece's themselves are styled to look like workmen's overalls with pockets on their chests and the front of their thighs with even a tool belt included. The girl's wear vest tops that reveal their washboard stomachs and muscled arms with worker's pants that also feature tool belts. Their boys are too impressive for us to hold on to the crowd's attentions, but our girls seem to draw more eyes than those of Province 2 for obvious reasons. Tori even gives me a wink as she flashes her beaming smile at the crazed spectators. Regardless of how futile it is, I continue to wave and look thrilled to be here, even though their ignoring me makes me want to hurl my sword at them. My hand reaches for it and with disappointment, I realise it's plastic.

We complete our circuit of the Grand Square in about ten minutes. We then turn sharply. Our chariots pull up in the centre of the square, facing the Northern Tower. From there, the other Provinces' chariots have to split up with Province 2's flanking us on either side and so on so forth until Province 4's chariots take up the outermost positions. The music stops and the crowd knows to be silent. Up on the balcony is the crest of Paneire draping over the edge, an eagle with its wings spread wide swooping down upon a quartet of choir crows perched upon a branch with the whole image framed by an olive wreath. Choir crows represent the provinces because they were created by Paneire, or more specifically the Capitol, as a weapon during the rebellion. Called cackle crows, the birds could flush out entrenched rebels with intense high-pitched sound that was known to be powerful enough to burst eardrums. After the rebellion, the Capitol had no more use for the birds so they let them die off naturally. A few managed to mate with wild blackbirds, however, and a new species was born, the choir crow. The song of the choir crow is hauntingly mournful but beautiful at the same time, but they are still capable of defending themselves in the same way as their ancestors. For that reason, a choir crow is also the sigil of the 33s.

President Hayes makes his way to a podium just above the crest. He gives the traditional welcome, "To this year's tributes, I welcome you, and to all, happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favour."

The national anthem plays, a song I'm told predates the founding of Paneire itself. I'm sure those who wrote it never intended for it to be played at an event like this. President Hayes, the Taoiseach, and their underlings disappear as soon as the song ends. I am jolted when the horses start moving again. Our chariots circle the other tributes and re-join each other on the other side facing the entrance to the stables. This pattern repeats with the other chariots until we form an orderly procession back to the Training Centre. I see on big screens placed on nearly every wall around us the close ups of all the tributes. I see Province 4's costumes are very understated this year, nothing more than farmer's shirts and trousers for the boys and quaint-looking dresses for the girls. Granted, the colours and designs on them are very bright, not typical of farmer clothes, but still, I'm surprised their stylist didn't make more of an effort. Myself and my fellow Province 1 tributes get some airtime, but it's clear that Province 2 are getting way more than their fair share.

We re-enter the stables and a huge door closes behind us, blocking out most of the noise from the crowds. I immediately step off the chariot as my prep team ushers me to the dressing rooms to get cleaned up. I catch a glimpse of Augustine. Despite what happened, he seems utterly in love with himself and his work, looking on proudly. I wonder is he growing senile because we just got hammered. Well, I wish I had his confidence because if that parade was any indication, we'll be lucky if someone sends us a breadcrumb.


	6. Chapter 6 Training Day

CHAPTER 6: TRAINING DAY

After we returned to our quarters from the parade, dinner was a subdued affair. No one talked. Very few of us touched our food except for when Leandra threatened us with violence unless we had some protein. Even Tori and Pallantia were not their usual flirty, boisterous selves. I did notice they helped themselves to a lot of wine, though. I even had some, though not being a drinker, my head felt fuzzy after one glass. Everyone knew how thoroughly we'd been trampled into the dirt. Even Camille could not put a positive spin on things. All he could manage was to say, "At least you were noticed at the start."

That was met with sighs, disdainful looks, and dry laughs. When it was clear that no one was in the mood for anyone else's company, we all left for bed. I did not sleep well. My own nightmares were of death in all its forms, the vivid sensation of a sword sliding into my abdomen, the sight of a spear protruding from my chest, or a knife slicing my throat open. I even dreamed of being slowly tortured and beaten to death, being drowned, or having my neck twisted around in slow motion. I couldn't fathom how I'd had enough sleep to dream. On top of this, when I awoke through the night, I had to listen to the O' Reilly brothers' pitiful moans of pain and screams of fear as they endured similar nightmares.

I can't blame them, I suppose.

Even without Province 2's offering this year, I was already envisioning how gruesomely I'd die. For them, being the arrogant twits that they are, it is totally different. They are used to being the strongest, the biggest, the meanest around, but now they both know that if one of the boys from Province 2 jumps them, they're finished. The skills we have learned won't be much use in their vice-like grip.

In the end, I give up trying to sleep before sunrise. I use my private shower, which seems to have four times as many options as my shower back home. Luckily, the options for basic hair and shampoo cycles are in the same place in the top left-hand corner. I deliberately turn the water temperature down at the end of my shower to wake myself a bit and then step out from the icy blast shivering. I step into the automated dryer that blasts me with warm air, tearing the cold droplets from my goosebumped skin. When I return to my quarters, a screen on the front of the wardrobe has already compiled a list of suggested attire. Seeing as I'm not due to be anywhere for another four hours, I choose a loose-fitting long-sleeved top and similar lounge trousers. A control pad beside my bed allows me to alter my view of the city through any number of cameras. There isn't much to see at night, but I soon realise that the faux window can look upon anywhere in Paneire as I see images of towns in the surrounding counties that are not unlike my own. I decide to check and see if the screen will respond to voice command. "Settlement 2, County 2."

Sure enough, the image displayed shifts to the cobblestone circular centre of my hometown. My viewpoint looks upon the Mayor's Mansion. I try another command. "Rotate one-eighty degrees."

And it does so. I am now staring down the street where my house is. Without my prompting, the picture changes and it moves down the street until I tell it to stop at my house. I suppose many tributes long to see home when they come here. The light is on in the upstairs bedroom and a dimmer light is on downstairs in the sitting room. Unusual, as father only has to be up for work at eight, seven on a busier day, which is still two hours away. I see a form pass across the bedroom. I'm pretty sure it's my mother. Seeing as I'm in the games, she would most likely be taking tea with the other mothers at the café in the town centre. The amount of preparation that would go into an outing such as that would keep her busy styling, and cleansing and pencilling for hours. I suppose it distracts her from any consideration about what's actually about to happen to me. My father, on the other hand, has no such diversions. If he's up now, he probably never went to bed. I worry for him so much. I really hope it isn't affecting his work. The shop is his livelihood, and it would destroy him to lose it. I wish for him to cope, to hang in there. What good is it, though? If I'm going to die anyways, my well-wishing now won't make a blind bit of difference. "Turn off!"

I can't look at it anymore. It kills me inside just to think of how my family will be when I die. They've already lost too much. I resolve to be strong now and as long as I last in the games. If I can die well, and make them proud, at least they'll have that to hold on to. I start to think that in the end that that won't mean all that much to them. I focus on anything else for thoughts like that will just lead me to suicide. It has happened before. Tributes sometimes become so hopeless either before or during the games that they'll often seek death out, throwing themselves at a superior tribute, a muttation, or simply off something very high. It's a very tempting thought, having it all end so quickly. Of course, depending on how I did it, there would be momentary agony, but that would not last long, especially compared to days or weeks of running and hiding, barely surviving in a hostile environment with twenty-three other people who want you dead.

_No! Enough!_

I was almost on the verge of convincing myself. I decide to get in an early breakfast. Today is our first training day after all, and I need to be prepared. I go to the lift and head to the General-Purpose Floor. I arrive to find food already on the table. They could probably tell that I was on my way up. I stride over to the table, heading straight for the nearest platter when something catches my notice. It is the slightest of creaks, but my hearing is something I've honed my whole life. Someone is sneaking up on me. I do not break my stride. That would be the clearest sign I know they're there. I keep moving towards the table. Whoever it is, they are inept at stealth, their footfalls become very audible as they quicken their pace. I realise as well that they are too heavy and graceless to be one of the girls. I don't care who it is, but I'm not about to be jumped on this day of all days. They're coming up behind me. I just reach the table, pick up an oversized saltshaker, and pirouette just in time to strike them in the throat.

Festus gasps and is on his knees choking almost immediately.

I'm beginning to think that the O' Reilly brothers will be the least of my concerns when I enter the arena. Even the girls could make a better attempt on my life than this. They at least mastered stealth, one of the first things we were ever taught. Festus is spluttering before me and though he's flushed from me nearly crushing his larynx, I notice his eyes are puffy and red and there's the faint trace of dried tears. Had he been crying? I would have thought that would be an alien concept to him. Pity gets the better of me eventually and I grab a glass of water for him. When I offer it at first, he seems wary as though I'm handing him poison. He takes it in the end as he's getting his breath back. I say, "What the hell was that?"

"…I was trying to prove something…to myself."

"What exactly?"

"That I'm a good Career."

"What do you mean?"

"I wanted to prove I have as much of a chance of winning as anyone."

"You mean as much as Korvin."

He flinches but nods in agreement. He struggles to his feet and slumps onto one of the chairs at the dining table. He says, "I guess if even someone half my size can bring me down, I'm pretty much a goner."

"I'm more than half your size, Festus."

"Not much more."

"Whatever, the point is that you were noisier than a drunken elephant in a forest and anyone with ears could have done what I did. Even the girls know the throat-crushing technique."

"Wow, way to make me feel better."

"I wasn't trying to, but you wanted to know what you did wrong."

"Just leave me be, Cato, you're just pissing me off."

"Gladly."

I pick up a platter with assorted breakfast staples such as eggs, sausages, and bacon with some brown soda bread on the side. I'm about to turn away when Festus says, "Was Ezio a good brother?"

I am shocked so much that I almost drop the platter. I can't even utter a word. Ezio's death flashes in my memory. I shudder as the horror mingles with the dismay and fury that Festus would even dare speak his name, let alone bring him up in my presence. I make no effort to conceal my ire as I say, "What's it to you?"

"I just want to know."

"It's none of your business."

"I don't want details. I just want a yes or a no."

"…Then yes, he was, satisfied?"

"Would he have betrayed you?"

"No."

"Would he have hurt you? Would he have killed you, even if you were both in the games?"

"…No, not a chance."

"…That must be nice, to be so sure of someone."

I calm a bit. It's hard not to pity him. "I know why you're asking these questions, Festus, but weren't you sure of your brother up until we came here?"

"…I've trusted my brother all my life, Cato, only to be made a fool of. When we were kids, I'd boost him up to the counter in the kitchen so he could reach mother's biscuit tin. He always promised to share them with me but always stashed them away somewhere I'd never find them. If I got pushy, he'd tell mother I stole them, and he was the good one for telling. I don't know if mother ever believed him but father is very black and white, so I always got the beatings. When we became Careers, we knew we'd be volunteering the same year. Mother and even father wanted one of us to volunteer when we were seventeen in case we were both chosen, but Korvin convinced me that the chances both of us would be selected would be slim and that even if we were, it wasn't like we'd be the ones to kill one another. I believed him, despite everything, even knowing how important it is for him to win. Part of me even knew it was more important than family, more so than me. Well, I'm the fool again."

I don't know this person. This can't be Festus. Festus wouldn't speak so frankly, not to me at any rate, and even if he did, he would not speak that well. This is not a simple-minded brute or a belligerent lummox who sits before me, things I'd always thought of him, this is someone who is introspective, very aware but, ironically, a touch naïve or perhaps someone who just wants his brother to actually treat him like a brother. So, yes, naïve is the right word, but the guy looks like a puppy that's been kicked right now. Maybe he really was crying. I'm about to respond when he says, "I heard your shouts from your bedroom. Did you have bad dreams, too?"

"Yeah, I did."

"What did you dream about?"

"I dreamed of all the ways I might die in the games, hoping against hope for the quickest ones."

"Korvin was probably dreaming of something similar, though, I'm guessing in his dreams he's almost won only to have it snatched from him by his last competitor. I can hear the disappointment in his voice." I actually smile at that. It's weird to be smiling in Festus's presence like it's unnatural or something. He asks, "Do you know what I was dreaming about, Cato?"

"Dying, like the rest of us."

"Yes, but for me, it's a little different. I dream of how my brother will kill me. Make no mistake, it will happen. What I don't know is whether we'll be the last ones standing and will we fight to the death or will he trick me into thinking all is well again and then stab me in the back, get rid of me early. Will he kill me quickly, snap my neck, knife me in the chest or will he torture me?"

"Festus, you've resigned yourself to your fate like it's inevitable. Korvin is no more capable than you are as a fighter."

"If only it were that simple."

"What do you mean?"

"Korvin's smarter than I am, and sneakier. He won't fight fair, and that's not even the worst part?"

"What is?"

"I'm better than him. I won't kill my brother, Cato. I don't even like fighting with him. Why do you think he got off so easy in our fight the other night? Point is that I'd rather be dead than sink to his level, and I'm going to get my wish."

"I-ah, I don't know what to tell you, Festus."

"You don't have to. You listened, that's all I needed. Can I ask you one thing, though?"

"I guess."

"If he kills me, and you're still standing, whatever you do, don't let him win."

It is hard to resolve that conversation with what I thought was reality. The last thing Festus said to me resonates the most. He basically asked me to avenge him as weird as that is. Perhaps, though, I am thinking too simply. He wants me to stop him from winning. Although, I'll be made aware of the deaths of tributes during the games, unless I am physically present, I won't know who killed Festus. From that, I can take but one thing. Festus just wants me to stop his brother winning full stop. I have absolutely no qualms about that except the amount of personal risk I'd be running, but my ability with long-range weapons will definitely level the playing field. Something that I am absolutely not to demonstrate during training. "But Leandra, archery and spear throwing are my best skills."

"Listen here you brat, I am your mentor here, not your sister, which means everything I say goes without question, am I understood?"

"Then what am I supposed to do during training?"

"Learn something new."

"Say what?"

"Don't look at me like I'm drunk or I'll beat you bloody silly. I mean take the time to learn a skill you don't know like trapping, or survival skills."

"Why would I need those? You know Province 1 tributes nearly always retain control of the cornucopia."

"_Nearly_ always, have you never watched the clips of my games?"

"No, I can't say I have."

"In my games, we were faced with a very strong showing from all the other provinces. Province 2's tributes were all workers, very big and very strong. Even some of the 3 and 4 tributes were physically impressive. My fellow Careers did as every Career before them has done; tried to hold the cornucopia, kill as many as possible before they escape and any who try to challenge us. I knew we didn't stand as much chance as usual, so I ran."

"You ran? You left the cornucopia behind?"

"It's the only reason I'm standing here today. Two of us ran, four stayed, the others temporarily aligned against them, they got slaughtered. I think you know I'm not exactly one with nature so running off into the wilderness wasn't an easy choice to make. I really wanted to stick to what I knew. If I hadn't learned basic survival skills during training, I would have died of dehydration and exposure long before anyone found me. I think you understand that a similar situation could arise this time."

"You have a point."

"Here's another, do you think you can really trust your fellow Careers? I know the usual pact, stick together until all other tributes are eliminated and then all bets are off. If I were you, I wouldn't just consider running because of the threat the other provinces pose, I'd run because my so-called comrades are a bunch of backstabbers."

"Point taken."

"Excellent, now with your archery skills, hunting shouldn't be a problem but do learn how to prepare food, as in skinning and cleaning birds and squirrels and such. Learn what you can and cannot eat, how to find water and shelter. Learn about snares, too. If you have to sleep on the ground, having a few of those set up around will be a nasty surprise to any unwelcome visitors. Now, let's be off."

The training rooms are actually in the sublevels, the same as the stables, but the elevator descends to the stables and then moves horizontally bypassing them to bring us to our destination, which is actually below the Grand Square. On arriving, the training gymnasium is as I expected from Joss's accounts. There are weapons of every kind on multiple stations and numerous obstacle courses. It's nothing I'm not familiar with, the only difference between here and the Training Grounds back home is the lack of mud and dirt. We are first to arrive but we've no sooner disembarked from the elevator before it closes and zooms away to collect the next lot of tributes. Each of us gets a square piece of cloth with the number one on it pinned to our backs, as if we needed something to differentiate us, anyone can tell the tributes from each province apart. Korvin and the girls look keen to begin, eyeing the weapons with gleeful longing like children within reach of their favourite toys. Festus still looks withdrawn and sombre. Before long, the others arrive with their escorts who, like Sidra, almost immediately depart, releasing us into the custody of the head trainer. This is the first time I get to see the other tributes properly. I wasn't mistaken about the Province 2 tributes. In fact, in person, they seem twice as big as they did during the parade, or maybe that's just the anxiety of being in their presence. The boys are all over six foot, are all broad with bulging arms, chests, and pretty much every muscle group besides, and they all have healed scars somewhere on them. Some of them must have been seriously nasty injuries, but they sport them like tattoos or badges of honour. All but one of the girls is taller than me, but their physiques are wirier. They still bear the marks of past injuries and look no less tough than the boys do.

The 3s are all tall but very thin with weatherworn skin and hair. I've heard that when a child in Province 3 becomes old enough to be a tribute, they are considered old enough to work. This could mean anything from sorting and prepping the fish catches to building the ships to actually sailing out into the dangerous ocean on their trawlers. The youngest of them is a boy who I guess is fourteen, but he already bears the signs of having worked hard for years. All of them look resigned and stare at the ground without a hint of spirit. I don't believe any of them will pose a threat. In all likelihood, none of them will make it away from the cornucopia.

This is my first time getting a good look at the 4s. They work the land and some have the same look about them as the 3s, but they look healthier than they do Their skin tone is darker, and it is not as worn but more calloused, especially around their hands. I'm surprised really that their stylists hadn't attempted to moisturise and abrade all that hardness off them, but I guess it takes more than some basic cosmetic procedures to erase years of hard labour. One of the boys looks fairly impressive. He has to be the oldest, and he definitely looks less than happy to be here. Of course, none of them are exactly pleased about their circumstances, but he looks enraged and very hard done by. I'm guessing he's eighteen, and this was the last year he could be selected and low and behold, he was. He's not as big as the Province 2 tributes, but he could definitely be a challenge to me or the O' Reilly brothers if he managed to jump us. The others look meek and mostly stare at the ground, except for one young boy with red hair who seems in awe of his competition. He must be twelve, he's very small, and though not as prim as a child his age from my province, he doesn't look like he's done a lot of hard work. An older girl, with red hair also, stands very close to him. She's my age I think. She's almost my height and whilst not as taut as the Province 2 girls, she does not look weak. She hovers over the boy very protectively and upon noticing his blatant stares, she whispers something to him, and he looks at the ground with redness rising in his cheeks. I catch her eyes for a brief moment. To my surprise, she seems defiant, not fearful or even uncertain. She is by no means the worst off of the tributes but to me, her boldness seems a little unwarranted.

As soon as we are all present, we form a tight circle and the head trainer stands in the middle. He is a middle-aged man with almost totally grey hair but is athletic and tall with piercing green eyes that stand out from his pale, stubbly face. He gives the impression that he will tolerate no nonsense. As if to reaffirm that impression, he begins his lecture by stating that we are not to engage in combative training exercises with other tributes and that assistants are on hand if we require a partner. Telling us his name is Lucius seems to come as an afterthought. He goes down through the list of stations that range from survival, edible plants, and camouflage to knife throwing, sword fighting, and long-range weaponry. I eye the bows and arrows and the spears longingly, but I'm not supposed to reveal my best skills to my opponents until we're in the games. He tells us we are free to go to any station we choose but to keep our mentors' instructions in mind. When he releases us, the Province 2 tributes cut in front of us and make for the swords and axes. They ask the instructors to demonstrate fighting skills to them. They handle weapons like worker's tools, which the girls and Korvin scoff at but when the largest boy brings an axe that I could barely wield down upon a log provided, slicing it neatly in half, they lose their grins and disperse. The Province 2 tributes' chuckling lasts a good ten minutes.

I don't move on but only because I'm not sure where to begin. The 2s have taken up the swords and axes, Tori and Pallantia are practicing their knife-throwing, Ignatia is familiarising herself with blowguns and other uses of poisons, and Korvin is already going hard on the weights as if he'll build a load of muscle mass between now and the games. I notice at the long-range weapons station that there aren't just standard bows and arrows. I notice two bows are much larger with longer, thicker arrows. These are longbows and I've never used one as when I was younger, the bow was taller than myself. We had only one at the Training Grounds, a beautifully crafted bow that was snapped by some belligerent Career who had a disagreement with Joss. My brother made him pay for his destructive tantrum. I think that Career was killed in the games a few years ago by an arrow to the chest ironically. The craftsman who made our last longbow is dead now, and his apprentices have yet to get around to replacing it. Longbows are certainly harder to wield but have a longer range and fire with more force. If I familiarised myself with it, I wouldn't technically be defying Leandra's instructions as this is a skill I don't know. Okay, so that's a lie, so maybe it would be best to move on but then I spot something. At the end of the weapon shelves is something I've never seen before. It is a bow mounted upon a stick with some kind of mechanism to hold the bow taut. I walk over and pick it up. I quickly realise it isn't meant to be held like a normal bow but like one of the guns the peacekeepers carry. The trainer approaches me. I ask, "What is this?"

"It's a crossbow."

"Never heard of it."

"It's only been allowed in the games this year. It's like a mechanical bow. You load these bolts, press the release mechanism, and it shoots."

The bolts are short but look deadly with their razor-sharp metal tips. The trainer quickly shows me how to load the bolts and how to best aim the crossbow. With a little practice, I am certain that I can master this weapon, but I don't try my luck. The trainer asks, "Why?"

"My mentor wanted me to try other things if you know what I mean."

The trainer follows my meaning completely and releases me. Clearly, not revealing your best skill is common practice. I decide since I know nothing about living in the wild that I should try my hand at survival skills. The trainer is an older man, much like Lucius, but his face is softer and friendlier. He says, "Hello, young man, are you interested in what I have to offer?"

"I reply, "Well, yeah," thinking that that should be obvious.

"But you're a Province 1 tribute. I don't get many of you at my station."

"I like to prepare for all eventualities."

"That's sensible. Well, I'm guessing you know next to nothing about survival."

"No, just plain nothing."

"Well then, let us start with the basics."

I was with him from shortly after we arrived at nine right up until lunch at one. Luckily, we weren't interrupted. Some tributes showed a passing interest in the survival station, but the 3s and 4s were more concerned with learning how to fight in the first place, and the 2s and my fellow 1s were too busy showing off and menacing each other. In that time, I became proficient at starting fires with nothing more than two sticks and some dry kindling. I also learned how to find shelter or failing that, how to make some myself. I learned how to find water and how to move silently through the forest so as not to alert prey animals to my presence, although stealth is something that comes easily to me anyways. However, skinning, cleaning, and butchering my kills before I cook them was something I had some difficulty with. It was gross, especially considering they had real dead birds and rodents for me to practice on. I did my best, but I usually ended up butchering my food in a bad way. I suppose I'll have to get used to blood and guts from here on out.

Breakfast and dinner are had on our own floor, but lunch is served in the sublevels, and all twenty-four of us eat together. It's self-service so I just load up on protein. Korvin might have it right somewhat, I still could put on a pound or two of muscle before the games and every last bit of weight and strength counts. It's after lunch that the Gamemakers arrive, all dressed in purple robes. They observe us from elevated stands where they take notes or stuff their faces at a perpetual banquet. Occasionally, they come down into the gymnasium simply to watch more closely or consult with the trainers. I notice a lot of them have their attention squarely focussed on the 2s, barely noticing the rest of us. The 3s and 4s are too nervy to even notice, but Korvin, Pallantia, and Tori seem furious. Ignatia and Festus just don't seem to care. At one point, the Gamemakers go to consult with the survival trainer and seeing as I've been his only student today, he indicates me and seemes to give me a glowing review, until he indicates the animal entrails on the table behind him. The Gamemakers avert their eyes and wrinkle their noises furiously. One even leaves feeling ill.

_Well, I suppose the one I made sick will remember me._

For the afternoon, I decided to learn how to tie knots and set some basic snares. This trainer is a woman in her thirties and she, too, seems very pleased to finally have a student. She shows me how to use snares to catch animals, which would make hunting a lot easier. She also shows me a rather interesting snare trap that could leave one of my opponents dangling from a tree by their leg. A tribute from Province 3 shows interest, too, and the trainer is positively delighted. She leaves me to practice by myself. It's just then when Festus shows up beside me. He says, "Do you mind if I join you?"

_Politeness, I didn't even think he knew what that was_. I'm wondering what effect our conversation earlier had on Festus. Does he think we've become friends or are at least on civil terms? I can't afford that, especially when we're in the games, but he looks so melancholy and beaten down that I don't have it in me to say no, though I shouldn't really be encouraging this. When he sits down beside me, I think that if these were the games and we were at the cornucopia, 1s left only, befriending me would be the perfect strategy to take me off guard in that situation. He is easily strong enough to snap my neck in seconds even if he isn't that silent or quick. Yet, whilst I've seen another side to Festus today, I still can't credit him with that degree of deviousness. He just doesn't have it in him to strategise in such a sly and conniving way. Whether that's from a lack of cleverness or some inherent goodness he may have, I don't know, but I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. He asks, "Why have you gone to all these weird stations?"

"Leandra told me to learn something I didn't already know. I know how to use all those weapons, so I'm just broadening my horizons."

"Am, what are you doing exactly?"

"Learning how to dangle someone from a tree."

"Wow, can you explain it to me?"

It took half an hour just for him to get his head around the basic snares and then the one he actually wanted took twice as long. I could see he was concentrating really hard, so I tried not to get frustrated. We are due to head back for dinner at five, so that leaves me ninety more minutes to practice myself. When we are finished, he asks, "What do you make of the 2s this year?"

I turn around and see the boys have become very good sword fighters in a short space of time, and the girls have become handy at knife throwing. I guess to them these are just tools required to do a job and with that mindset, they could eventually get their heads around anything. I reply, "I'm guessing the boys have twenty kilos on you, probably closer to thirty on me. They're strong and quick to learn. The girls mightn't have as much mass, but that doesn't mean we can discount them, they're just as smart and they'll be more nimble than the boys."

Festus absorbs everything I said for a moment and says, "So, you can still do this."

"Huh?"

"Out of the six Careers, you have the best shot with…"

"Ssh, keep your voice down. I don't want _them_ to know that."

"Oh yeah, sorry, but what I'm saying is that the rest of us can't rely on that. We'll have to fight in close quarters. You won't."

"Yes, but if I'm forced to do that then I'll lose, especially to the 2s. Fighting with bladed weapons and hand to hand is what the rest of you are good at. I mean you hit the punching bag in the Training Grounds so hard once that your fist went through it, and the girls are so slippery, I mean they can bend in ways I didn't think were humanly possible."

"Yes, I know, it almost makes you want to let them beat you up."

I laugh and the foreign noise seems to draw the attention of the other tributes. The 3s and 4s seem so confused as to how I could possibly be smiling right now. The 2s sneer at us, but Korvin seems simultaneously confused and offended at our camaraderie. Everyone returns to their business after a few seconds, but I can still feel Korvin's eyes burning into the back of my head. I say, "My point is under different circumstances, anyone can win, even a 3 or 4. I mean look at that big farmer guy."

The eighteen-year-old from Province 4 seems to be doing quite well with an axe and has developed a comradeship of his own with the 2s. Festus says, "I guess. I'm out already because of Korvin."

"Not if someone else kills him."

"No, if it's not you then it'll be him. He's too determined. The 2s might be a problem, but he's insane and he's sneaky. He'll figure it out."

"What's with this sudden confidence in my abilities?"

"You don't get it, do you?"

"What?"

"Why do you think Korvin hates you so much? He's jealous."

"Seriously?"

"Cato, you come from like the royal family of all victors and you're not resting on your family's laurels. You're actually good. Korvin might be bigger and stronger, but you're smarter and more skilled. If it came down to you two, you'd win."

"I find it hard to believe."

"Well, I was jealous, too, but not in the same way. I wished I could do what you do. Korvin thinks you make him look bad and wants you dead for it."

"That's not at all surprising."

We sit in silence for a minute, idly making our knots when Festus says, "Ah, Cato, I think you have an admirer."

"Are Tori and Pallantia taking the piss again?"

"No, it's that red-haired girl."

I look in the direction he's looking. Sure enough, there she is, the red-haired girl from earlier with the little boy at the edible plants station. She looks away as soon as I look over. She is talking to the little boy like she's the one showing him what plants he can and cannot eat. This must be the case because the trainer is just looking on approvingly as she runs through the images on a computer screen. She risks looking again, thinking I'm not paying attention anymore. She is quite pretty, not conveying the over the top sensuality of Tori and Pallantia but not cold like Ignatia. She still has a certain fire about her, a strength that could be quite formidable. We catch each other looking again, and she seems to challenge me somehow with her eyes. Just at that moment, our escorts arrive. It's time to get ready for dinner. As Festus and I move off, the girl brings the boy away with an arm around his shoulders. She turns back once more and gives me that same look. I can't say I know what to make of it. It should read straight off as bad, but something draws me on until I almost crash into Sidra. She says, "Ah, I know I'm small, but you're supposed to be observant."

"Am, sorry."

"What were you looking at?"

She's gone. When I look up, the 4s have all departed first. I know it's a distraction from what I'm here for but for some reason, I really want to take up the challenge of the red-haired girl.


	7. Chapter 7 Trials

CHAPTER 7: TRIALS

It's the third day of training, and I still eye her from a distance. I'm not sure what I thought I was going to do; go up and talk to her, demand to know what her problem is, or I could take a leaf from my fellow 1s and try to intimidate her with my skill until she backs off. No, I wouldn't be doing that, nor would I be so forward as to just go right up to her. It just isn't me. No, I would bide my time and make any meeting seem coincidental. So after using a lot of day 2 pursuing that strategy, I realised as good as I am at stealth, acting isn't my strong suit. Every time I would approach a station that she was showing interest in or was already at, she would immediately drop what she was doing and ask to be excused. In the end, I gave up and used my last hour at the survival station so the trainer could explain what I did wrong when preparing kills. After filleting a fish fairly well and managing not to make such a mess of a dead crow, he gave me a passing grade.

Festus and I did not train together as much as we did the previous day, but purely because we both had different agendas and different things we wanted to work on. I'd noticed throughout the session that Korvin was attempting to engage his brother in conversation. Festus mostly grunted or gave non-committal answers to his questions. At one stage, Korvin became frustrated and shoved him but not very hard. The assistants stepped forward anticipating a fight and the Peacekeepers stationed with us readied themselves to drag them off if necessary. Festus, though he tried to act aggressive and threatening after the fact had initially flinched at his brother's touch. Who was this person? The Festus I knew often engaged in very rough hand-to-hand combat with Korvin. He never showed fear or shakiness in those brawls and often came away with minor injuries but never without having inflicted some of his own. I suppose that then he considered it play fighting, as brutal as it was. Now he knows that his brother means to kill him, and he has already proven that he could do it. Neither of them took it any further and Korvin turned away from Festus, sneering the whole time. After that, we retired once again to our apartment for dinner.

Camille was not in attendance. Sidra informed us he had other pressing engagements. The tone she used, though, said clearly that it was not that important and Camille was probably at some party stuffing his face and getting drunk. Leandra seemed relatively bushytailed when compared to her normal self. Both herself and Sidra insisted on questioning every one of us on what we did, what new skills we learned, and who of the Gamemakers asked after us. Korvin was as communicative as a stone, and Leandra threatened to fillet him with a broken glass if he didn't answer them properly. He was more responsive after that. Tori and Pallantia mostly huffed about the attention the, and I quote, ugly, gnarly 2s were getting. Leandra listened to their complaining for approximately six minutes before cutting them off and moving on to Ignatia. She described in exquisite and clinical detail how much she'd learned about natural poisons that you might find in an arena, how to employ them, and precisely how those affected would perish. To say we were all somewhat disturbed would be an understatement. Someone not paying that much attention might decide that she was just overly interested in the subject, but just in the way she described it, she was telling us all exactly how she intended to kill us. Festus and I had broadly similar sessions to recount which led to me getting a number of raised eyebrows from Leandra. I knew at that stage that she suspected something. What I didn't know was what was going to happen next. As soon as dinner ended and we began heading for our rooms, I made for the lift first only to find myself accompanied by Leandra. As soon as the doors closed, she hit the stop button. Then, without warning, she slammed me in the throat. It was enough to close my windpipe and leave me on my knees struggling to breathe. As soon as I'd recovered, she tried to redo the damage. That time, I neatly avoided her strike and rolled to the other side of the lift before getting into a defensive crouch. She said, "So you still have some of your wits about you? What a relief, now to figure out exactly where the brain damage is so we can get it fixed."

"What the…what are you talking about?"

"Don't think it escaped my notice that you've made a new pal."

"You're out of your mind."

"Shut up, Sidra told me how you've been buddying up with Festus for training."

"How can she know that?"

"We don't need to be there to know things."

"Well, so what? It's only training. I know what you told me to do in the arena."

"That didn't just apply to the arena. I meant from there on out. Having allies is fine if you can trust them in the short-term, but there is only one winner, Cato, and you cannot trust Festus."

"I don't trust him. I just feel sorry for him."

She groaned and said, "And that is what he wants, or at least it's what Korvin wants. They're just trying to get you off your guard…oh my God, why am I even bothering? You're as thick as shit for falling for this. You've gotten too close to him now and when the time comes in the arena, you'll hesitate."

"No, I won't. Like I've said, I don't trust him."

Mockingly, she replied, "But you feel sorry for him, awh, how sweet. Now you've revealed your interests in training, probably giving Korvin at least an inkling of your plan, and whether you'll admit it or not, you have developed a soft spot for your fellow tribute. You might as well charge into the cornucopia when the games start and ask someone to stab you in the gut. Joss would be ashamed of you if he was here. Ezio would be, too."

Something snapped within me when she mentioned my dead brother. I kept it together, though, for if we came to blows, I knew we'd kill each other. I said, "How dare you."

"It's the truth, Cato, but you know best, so carry on as you see fit."

"I will and from now on, save your breath and your punches for the others. I do not want to hear from you from here on out, and I don't just mean until the games, I mean when I get home, too, and mark my words, I will get home, with or without you 'help'."

"Those are strong words, Cato. You may come to regret them."

"My only regret is ever entertaining the possibility that you might be of some use to me. You're drunk more than you're sober and let's not forget the moirfin I saw you taking." She seemed taken aback that anyone could know about that, let alone me. I continued, "So let's call a spade a spade, you're an alcoholic and a morphling and a waste of space. You'll help me most by being gone." I hit the open button and the lift doors parted with everyone waiting to get on. Leandra threw me one menacing look as she stepped off. Sidra came forward knowing something had gone down. I didn't look at her and said to Leandra as she stepped off, "And Leandra, if you ever use Ezio against me like that again, I'll end you."

With that, I hit the close button before anyone could step on and headed for the boy's floor. Perhaps a lot of that was said in anger but even as I calmed down and went to bed, I knew I could never forgive her for what she had said.

It was hours before I slept. I awoke with a headache and a sore throat, which was probably the result of Leandra's cheap shot in the lift. I looked awful, bags under the eyes, scruffy hair, stubble, and a bit of a breakout on my throat. I showered, groomed as best I could, and tried to keep it together as I headed up for breakfast. When I arrived, however, Leandra was not there, only Camille and Sidra. My sister gave me a look of consternation as I took my seat, but I paid her no mind. If she was going to take Leandra's side, then I had no time for her either. I found myself to be ravenous and eating certainly made it easier not to converse with anyone or even look at them. Camille rambled on about the event he attended last night in which he claimed to have attracted the attention of a number of potential sponsors, though I thought it was more likely the only attention he got from anyone was people's derision. It only occurred to me then that Leandra was the one who dealt with sponsors. Camille or Sidra couldn't do that. I wondered whether she'd be so petty as to deny me sponsorship in the games.

_Quite possibly._

Sidra then spoke up. "I should let you all know that Leandra feels it's time to move on to individual coaching. Each of you will get an hour each with me, Camille, or Leandra to instruct you on your presentation and the content for your interviews."

Tori asked, "Why do me or Pallantia need an hour? We know how to carry ourselves. We'll have them hanging on our every word."

"That may be, Tori, but you might find that you still have things to learn. Okay, the schedule is as follows: Ignatia and Korvin with Leandra, Tori and Pallantia with Camille, and Festus and Cato with me. We'll be working in that order from nine tomorrow straight after breakfast. Then after that we'll get together to see your scores from the evaluations, which by the way start in half an hour, so get a move on."

I had to once again wolf down my breakfast and rush along to the training centre, which left me with a bad case of indigestion. I tried not to let it show as I trained. The way the evaluations work is that the tributes are each called out of training for a private session with the Gamemakers so each tribute can display their skill set. Based on what they see, the Gamemakers will give us each a score ranging from one to twelve with one being dismally bad and twelve being impossibly good. As far as I know, no one's ever gotten the worst or best possible scores, but the most hopeless tributes often get a two or a three because the Gamemakers like to hedge their bets. After all, some of the worst scoring tributes have, on occasion, won, either by dumb luck or by keeping their best cards reserved for the games. That strategy appeals to me in some respects as a low score might lead the 2s to not take me seriously, but I'm sure that Leandra would have something to say if I underperform.

_Why do I care?_

I shake thoughts of my sister off and resolve to do my best in the evaluation. I am going to aim for a nine or ten at least, a typical Career score. Perhaps if I can display flawless accuracy throughout the evaluation, I might even get an eleven. A twelve would be impossible. No one's that good.

Festus is the first called. The order in which we go is done by province, then by gender, and then age. This means the Province 1 boys will go first with our birth dates used to determine in what order we go. I knew I'd be last, but I wondered how they'd decide between the twins. It isn't their style to do it by random. That Festus is going first must mean that he is the older twin. That I wouldn't have suspected. As he heads for the door of an adjoining room, he looks back nervously. He catches my eye and I give him a nod. It isn't much, but I hope that Leandra's watching somewhere and pulling out her hair at this moment. Perhaps pissing off a third party isn't the best motivation for offering someone reassurance, but I deliberately smile to myself once he's left. Twenty minutes later, Korvin is called. I don't see Festus again. After the evaluation, we simply return to our floor. I decide to check in again with some of the survival instructors. I try to cram in as much as I can about finding water, making or finding shelter, what plants I can eat and so forth. All too soon, the intercom sounds. "Cato Mulqueen."

I thank the instructor and excuse myself. As I head towards the door, I feel someone's eyes on me. I turn my head quickly to see the little boy from Province 4 openly gaping at me, poking his head out around a pillar. It's hard not to think of Aleron. I give him a brief smile before his protector intervenes. At least that's how I perceive her. I don't know what connection they have. Perhaps they are siblings but beyond their hair colour, there is no resemblance. The girl eyes me with contempt and drags the boy off towards another station at the other side of the room. The boy cranes his neck all the while, trying to look back at me. I am just totally confused by both their behaviour. I decide to forget about it and not linger any longer. I don't want to keep the Gamemakers waiting.

When I enter, the Gamemakers are sitting upon what seems to be a stage with a buffet laid out on top of it and seating set along the edge facing towards me. If Leandra had been around, she could have given me some heads up about what weaponry would be here so I could better plan my approach. I wonder has she gotten around to speaking to the others and skipped over me, or have we all suffered because of her sullen little tantrum, which by now has probably turned into a boozing session. I look out onto the floor in front of the stage. There are knives, spears, but no bow, at least not a regular one. Instead, the crossbow and longbow have both been laid out on a table nearest the door from whence I entered.

_Crap, I knew I should have practised a little._

I could ignore them and demonstrate my spear and knife throwing skills but if I only show them that then I may get a lower score. Plus, my spear and knife throwing, while by no means mediocre, are definitely not perfect. The Gamemakers had obviously spoken with the long-range weapons instructor. He had probably told them that I had expressed an interest in these weapons but chose not to demonstrate it in front of the other tributes. This then is a challenge. They are telling me that it was fine for me to keep some things back during training, but not here. Here, I have to show them everything; I have to give it my all.

Still, I decide to work myself up.

I go straight for the knives. The targets are set along the far wall and vary from twenty-five to two hundred yards out. Some are simple shooting targets while others are dummies, some are even moving. I take to throwing knives at a dummy that is moving at a steady and predictable pace from left to right. I take aim and land the first six-inch blade just below the heart. I try five times more and invariably land my hits in the chest area with one direct hit to the heart. The Gamemakers nod approvingly and urge me on. I go to the spears next. There are four of them, two longer and two shorter. The short ones are just about a meter whilst the long ones are about another half-meter longer. I chose a short one first to get a feel for it. It's made of some lightweight metal, so I aim for a target about fifty yards out and raise it to head height, trying to adjust for its lightness. I manage to land it three inches above the bull's-eye. I decide to try my luck with the longer spear. It's heavier, but I stick to the same target. This time the spear lands almost six inches below the bull's-eye. The Gamemakers just nod. I start to worry, but I remember that they will not show any obvious approval as to not hint at my potential score. I have to think, too, that if these were human targets, they would be dead, or at least severely wounded.

_Okay, so my stopgaps are gone. Here goes nothing. _

I step over to the bows. I am drawn to the crossbow first. It is larger than the one in the training centre with proportionately sized bolts. I realise it'll have to be held much like a Peacekeeper's rifle, even more so than the other one, as it's near impossible to keep it steady in one hand. I am unfamiliar aiming a weapon like this, although I'm able to concentrate more on aiming rather than with a normal bow where I must pay attention to keeping the bowstring taut. I decide to try two targets, a dummy seventy-five yards out, and a shooting target a hundred yards out. I take my time aiming and when I think I have them aligned, I shoot off a bolt, quickly load another, and fire again. I stand to take stock of my work.

The dummy, a kill shot, straight to the heart. The shooting target, bull's-eye.

I breathe a noticeable sigh of relief. I try to cover it by exhaling before I move over to the longbow. It's made of metal and the string is some kind of synthetic, yet I judge it to be the same size as the one we used to have at the Training Grounds back home. I remember the last time I held it and I had to crane my neck to look at its highest point when the other end was placed on the ground. I guess I've grown a bit since then. I am now a head taller than it. Still, this weapon is hard to handle and requires a degree of strength. I pick up one of the arrows that are more than a meter long and made of the same metal as the spears. Their lightness doesn't compensate for how unwieldy this thing is compared to a regular bow. I'm holding the arrow in place, the string taut. My hands and arms are literally shaking with the effort. I realise it's panic and fear of making a fool of myself.

_Okay, calm, breathe, this is doable."_

I try controlling my breathing which helps with the shaking. I concentrate on the task at hand instead of the feeling of all those eyes on me. I re-aim at two shooting targets at one hundred and fifty and two hundred yards out. I remind myself this is easily within my ability with a normal bow, that only one parameter has changed, and I can compensate for that. I pull the string back in final preparation and release. The massive arrow slices through the air with a screech almost and hits the target.

_At least I have that. _

To my surprise, it's better than that. I got the bull's-eye. I quickly reload and take aim for the furthest target as if my luck is about to run out. I'm shooting again in five seconds not wanting to let myself overthink it. The arrow slams into the target with such force that the sound reverberates back and forth through the space. This isn't as perfect, but it very nearly is. It couldn't be more than inch below the bull's-eye. I try to keep a smile in and return the bow to the table. I turn to face the Gamemakers. They all seem to approve, though many seem to be trying not to show it too much. The head Gamemaker comes to the front of the stage and says, "Thank you, Mr. Mulqueen. You may excuse yourself."

"Thank you for your time."

I exit through a different door that brings me to another lift to the upper levels. I breathe a deep sigh of relief. I'm fairly certain I've impressed them and that I've gotten a reasonable score. I cross my fingers for something in double figures. The lift leaves me off at the stables where I make my way to the main lift to the apartments. It's still too early for lunch so I just head to my room. When I arrive, my room is the first I come to on my right, but I notice Festus's room, which is opposite mine, is open. I knock lightly on the door. Festus suddenly appears from behind it, carrying a bottle. He says, "Hey, Cato, what's up?"

"Nothing…I just thought I'd ask how you got on."

"Got on with what?"

"…The evaluation."

"Oh, that, yeah, well, I'm sure it was grand. You want some?"

"What is it?"

"Whiskey…I think. Who knows? Who cares? Come on, take a slug."

"I think I'll pass."

"Come on, Cato, you only live once and in two days time, that once might be over."

"That's true, I guess."

"Well, I don't know about you, but today's technically our only free day. Tomorrow's the score announcement and all that presentation shit, then the day after that we have the interviews. Might as well live it up."

I had never been interested in drinking, not after observing what it has done to Leandra over my whole life. Festus has a point, though. What do I have to lose? In two days, I could be a corpse, just another tribute sacrificed for the good of Paneire, though I hope to last longer than the first day of the games. I steel myself, take the bottle from Festus, and gulp it down, swallowing it down quickly before a taste can settle in my mouth. It seems that doesn't work with whatever this is. It tastes rank and feels like its burning as it goes down. I ask, "People actually do this for fun?"

"No, people do this to get drunk. That's when the fun begins."

"How long will that take?"

"With this stuff, two or three more mouthfuls."

"I'll hold you to that."

"Ha, come on…"

"Where are you going?"

"The General-Purpose Floor, they'll give us as much drink as we want, plus there's munchies and-and, Tori and Pallantia were planning to party today as a last hoorah. Think of them sober and now imagine them drunk."

This stuff must be kicking in already because that thought is actually appealing. I think for a moment, take another swig, and say, "Fuck it, let's do it."

"Thatta boy, so have you heard of shots?"

"Shots? Like of vodka?"

"No, man, ah so much to teach you and so little time. This will be fun!"

I think my sober self is scared, but tipsy Cato is getting giddy. I follow Festus to the lift, not forgetting the bottle, throwing off my cares for once.

_Leandra would be so proud. I'm going to be drunk before noon._

Perhaps I would regret this, especially if I have to follow instructions on presentation with a hangover and if Leandra finds out…what? What does it matter? Her disapproving of me now would be a case of the kettle calling the pot black. As I take another swig as we get off the lift, my thoughts dissipate until all that's left is this moment, for my remaining moments are rapidly dwindling.


	8. Chapter 8 The Score

CHAPTER 8: THE SCORE

Pain. Haziness. Disorientation. These are the things I feel first when my bleary eyes open upon an unexpected scene. I'm on a couch, that much I can ascertain, but my vision won't clear, and the light coming in the windows is stabbing into my retinas like white-hot needles. In the face of this, I am very tempted to just close my eyes and let consciousness disappear once more, but I see a blurry form moving across my field of view. I decide to try to wake myself up and shake off what must be a truly epic hangover induced by an amount of alcohol that a seasoned drinker might not even blink at. I, of course, am quite green in that regard, or at least I was before last night, which I remember nothing of. After I went up to the General-Purpose Floor with Festus, I can remember nothing after the lift doors parted, except a half-formed glimpse of Tori and Pallantia table-dancing and the sound of loud music coming from an indeterminate source. Past that, there is nothing except the memory of waking up. I'd heard Leandra speak of blackouts differently as though she was aware of the time that had transpired but had no memory of what had actually happened with at most blurry flashes of images that made little to no sense even taken together. Lacking even that, I suppose it makes it hard to accept that time has actually transpired, as the trip in the lift still seems like only a moment ago.

It certainly doesn't feel like I had a night's sleep.

On top of the head-splitting migraine, the intense queasiness in my stomach, and the ache of sore muscles all over my body is a suffocating weariness that seems to press down on me like someone trying to smother me with a pillow. At this moment, I sincerely want whoever is nearby to actually do this for me. There are cushions under me. It could all be over. I don't want to live through another moment of this torment. Then the blurry form comes right up beside me as I try to look at them and discern who it is. They're holding something in their hand. They put this white cylinder right in front of my face and then I hear the click a second before the spray.

My face literally burns, my eyes water, and I shoot up in my seat, clumsily trying to block any further spritzes with whatever that ghastly liquid is. They get me once more before I manage to choke out the word stop hoarsely through my raw, sore throat. The person stands back as I seat myself at the edge of the couch, hands to my face as the burning slowly fades. Then, I feel a change. The migraine ebbs away to a mild headache, the exhaustion and grogginess lift, and my stomach seems to settle. My body still feels like I slept on a rock, but that probably has more to do with the position I slept in rather than the hangover. I pull my hands away and my vision is fine again as soon as I wipe away the wateriness. I look up to see a very irritated Sidra looming over me with arms crossed, the spray can in hand but no longer pointing at me. I want to speak, but the spray doesn't seem to help my throat at all. Sidra doesn't seem patient enough to wait for me to recover my voice and says, "Well, someone had quite a night, and I'm not judging by the state you're in. I could probably guess by that given my experience with Leandra, but I don't have to. I have things like an exact tally of the amount of drink you ordered from the servers, the video footage from the floor cameras and last but not least, a delightful and graphic play by play of last night's events from Tori and Pallantia who seem to have handled their liquor a lot better than you. So, anything to say for yourself?"

"Ah, not really, I guess. What time is it?"

"Five to nine, get up and get out."

"What? Why?"

"You're on the General-Purpose Floor, Cato, and the presentation sessions start in five minutes, so get a move on."

"Okay, okay, just give me a minute."

"No, I won't. Leandra will be here with Ignatia any second, so unless you want them to see you like this…"

"Like what?"

"In just your underwear and a booze-stained vest, and stinking of it, too."

I look down to see she's right after a brief moment of bewilderment. I lurch up on to my feet and head for the elevator without looking back. Sidra calls after me, "You might wanna check in with your little friend, Festus, if you want the gory details of last night. He handled his drink better, too, but he lost whatever card game you were all playing."

I don't really consider what she means until I am back on my floor and heading for my room. I have a moment of déjà vu on seeing Festus's door wide open again, only this time he isn't being as silent as he falls about the place. I peek in and say, "Festus, you…"

"Fuck, you ever hear of knocking? You scared the shit out of me."

"Sorry, you okay?"

"Oh yeah, peachy."

"Festus, what happened last night? I have like no memory of it whatsoever."

"Yeah, well, mine's a bit sketchy, too. What I do remember is this morning, however, and if I survive the games, I won't forget it, _ever!_"

"Why? What happened?"

"I only came up here like ten minutes ago and when I did, I wasn't wearing these pants or this vest."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about being stark naked, strung across two dining room chairs on my back to be woken up by your sister spraying that anti-hangover crap in my face." I can't help but burst out laughing. My experience was uncomfortable, but at least all the important stuff was covered. Festus does not share my amusement and says, "You think it's funny? When I realised what was happening, I had to run up to the lift like a fool, cupping my balls, and she wouldn't stop laughing as I tried to keep doing that while pressing the buttons." I start to reach that stage of laughter where there's no more sound and you're breath starts to get away from you. Festus seems even more flustered as he says, "It's not funny, damn it."

"I…I'm sorry…I…shower. Talk later."

_Poor Festus_. The guy gets the worst doings is all I think as I continue to my room, strip off my whiskey-soaked underclothes and make for the shower. I'm in there for at least half an hour before the smell is satisfactorily beat off my body. When I come out, I find my breakfast being served to me on a table in my room as upstairs is in use for the coaching sessions. It smells divine as the odours of grilled bacon and sausages, black pudding, fried eggs, and the sweetness of fruit juice all reach my nose. I inhale them deeply as I stand over the platter. I can feel painful tingles in my head by now. Obviously, the effects of Sidra's spray are temporary and without it to hand, I'll be revisiting my first hangover very soon. Hoping to take the edge off, I start eating and downing juice whilst stirring the tea bags in their pot to strengthen the brew. After scoffing the whole lot down, I pour the slightly cooled tea and drink it black. Some of my symptoms do return such as a headache, but it isn't nearly as bad as when I woke up. 

Having had my fill, I step out into the hallway between the rooms. Festus is standing there, stuffing his face with bread. He's cleaned and dressed and bares no outward evidence of being still ill from the past night's events. I on the other hand still feel groggy, and despite a shower and some quick grooming, know that I still look like crap. Festus seems to be aware of the fact and finds it very amusing with a big, goofy smile on his face. "Did your mother ever tell you to eat with your mouth closed?" I snap.

"Sorry man, you look like shit."

"At least I kept my kit on."

Festus shrugged and replied, "Hey, it's not the first time it's happened after a night's drinking, but usually I'm not alone when I wake up."

"Really?" I ask disbelievingly

"Yes…well, once that's happened to me and probably only because the girl was drunker than I was."

"That's right," Korvin says as he emerges from his room at the end of the hall. "After all, brother mine, what sober whore in her right mind would go for you, let alone a halfway decent woman?"

"Fuck off, Korvin." He says it without any conviction and does not meet his brother's eye.

"Pathetic as always, some things never change. How about you, Mulqueen? You're not as fuck ugly as my brother, so one of the not so totally shabby wenches has surely taken pity on you by now."

"You're one to talk when it comes to looks, Korvin. Not even a mother could love that face."

He comes right up to me, the sickening stench of his breath going right up my nostrils. He says, "You can have that, Mulqueen, but mark my words, in the arena, I am going to take you apart piece by piece and very, _very_ slowly. Your death will take not minutes, not hours, but days and I will find you in there, no matter where you run." I try not to look surprised at that statement. Does he know what I plan to do in the arena or was he just saying that for effect? Hardly, seeing as he expects me to stay with the other 1s until our competition is eliminated. I glance over at Festus, and he's not looking me in the eye either. Korvin continues, "I'm gonna go down in Hunger Games history, the victor who ended the reign of the Mulqueens."

"Don't count on it."

He tries to laugh off my implied threat but then just turns and goes into the lift, probably going for his coaching session. I turn to go back into my room, not even looking at Festus. Leandra was right. I am stupid, and I was duped. How could I be that naïve? I have known the brothers since I first became a Career. How is it that at this pivotal moment just before the games that I decide to let my guard down? I curse myself internally and am about to slam the door when Festus says in a low voice, "He knows."

I don't need to ask what he means. I just reply, "And is that thanks to you?"

"No, he'd guessed what you were planning from what stations you went to in training. He came to me to boast about how clever he was for figuring it out."

"You honestly expect me to believe that he got nothing from you?"

"I wouldn't give him any advantage in the games, Cato. I said nothing. He just wanted to tell me that if I get in his way, I'll go first, not you."

"So? We both knew he was gunning for us. What does it matter what order we die in?"

"He meant that at the first opportunity he gets, he's going to try and kill you."

I flinch involuntarily. I guess I knew all along that this was the case. Hearing it said aloud just makes it so much more real. I know now my window of opportunity at the cornucopia when the games start has been narrowed significantly. I am faster on my feet than Korvin, but I was counting on having time to gather the supplies and weapons I would need while my comrades are busy fighting off the other tributes to secure the cornucopia. Then, I would run before the initial bloodbath had finished. Things are different now, and I will have to change my plans accordingly. As soon as Korvin gets a weapon in the games, and guaranteed that's the first thing he'll go for, he'll come for me. I won't have the time I wanted, and I don't have the element of surprise. Even if I grab a few things and get away from the cornucopia, he knows my plan. I consider that I might be overemphasising the direness of the situation. Things happen in the games. Korvin could die at the hands of a 2 or the big guy from 4 before ever making good on his threat, especially if he focuses all his limited faculties on me. Still, Festus said it best, he's sneaky, he's determined, and he's insane, a lethal combination if there ever was one. Festus looks resigned as usual, as I absorb fully what he's said. I reply, "So what will you do about it?"

"What?"

"Are you just gonna mope around and accept the 'inevitable', or are you going to grow a pair and stand up to him for once?"

"I can't. He'll kill me. If I'm gonna survive at all, it'll be because someone else killed him."

"Exactly, so what if you had backup?"

"What?"

"Neither of us can beat him alone but if we both gather the things we need, run, and regroup away from the cornucopia, we might stand a better chance."

"So you're saying…"

"I'm saying we need to make an alliance of our own."

My turn for the coaching session arrives, but I don't meet Festus on the way down, so I don't get any hint as to Sidra's mood. I wonder is she still annoyed at me over the whole Leandra situation. She seemed irritated this morning, but I was too hung-over to tell if it was just from the state I was in and Leandra's imminent arrival, or if she was still carrying some resentment. Whatever the case, I don't care. Sidra covers for Leandra far too often and never seems to disembark from the pity train. I couldn't care less about Leandra's feelings or how sensitive she might be, especially since she doesn't see fit to show me that kind of respect. How dare she use Ezio against me, the gall of it still astounds me, her words still sting. I guess alcohol really doesn't drown everything out.

I arrive on the general-purpose floor and Sidra is sitting at the dining table, facing me. There are some snacks on platters on the table, fruits, mini-desserts, and some starchy looking appetisers that I don't recognise. I've already taken lunch in my room, so I ignore them and sit myself down across from Sidra without a word. The silence lingers. She just sits there menacing me, but Sidra doesn't pull that off very well, at best, she looks peeved like a little girl who has been denied candy. I'm not about to be stared down by her, no matter how long she draws this out, so I calmly pour myself some water without breaking eye contact. She inhales deeply as I sip some of it. She then fires some kind of electronic pad across the table, which slaps me in the stomach, causing me to dribble some water down my chin. A red play icon is all that is displayed on the pad's screen. "Play it," Sidra says.

I don't question her. I tap the button once, and it displays a view of the general-purpose floor from ceiling height. It's looking down on the seating area with the dining table in the corner of the image. Tori and Pallantia arrive and proceed to order drinks and request music be played. They then dance on the coffee table and the sofas, thumping each other with the cushions and mess-fighting, laughing all the while. Then myself and Festus arrive on the scene. I can see I'm holding that noxious beverage that Festus gave me. I slug it all down as the girls come up to us dancing. Whatever we were drinking, it was potent because we already seem drunk, hobbling about clumsily as the girls do rings around us. Suddenly, the scene changes along with the viewpoint. We are now all sitting at the table, dozens of empty glasses and bottles scattered around us and the place is thrashed. I try to remember if it still looked like that when I woke up this morning, but all I can remember is the lift doors in the centre of my vision and blurriness all around them. I notice the girls are both topless, wearing only brassieres whilst I am already down to my underwear and vest, but Festus has just got one piece of clothing left. There are cards on the table and multi-coloured discs about the size of coins. I vaguely recognise this game, poker I think it's called, but this is clearly a variation where the loser of the round loses their clothes. Festus is barely able to sit upright, so when he loses the round, the girls have to remove his underwear for him after which he slumps across the chairs and passes out. The rest of us burst into laughter and the game is abandoned. I'm about to speak, but Sidra says, "There's more."

The next scene is the seating area again but judging from the colour of the sky out the windows, this is closer to dawn. Pallantia is nowhere to be seen, but myself and Tori are the only things I'm really drawn to. I'm not facing the camera as the viewpoint is from behind the sofa, but Tori is as she straddles me. It takes a while for me to process what I'm seeing, but the look on her face and the rhythmic gyration on my lap says it all. I feel my cheeks redden until the heat makes sweat run down my face. I start to shake as I realise the video clip includes audio with our voices just audible as if heard from a distance. I drop the pad on the table and thump the screen and mercifully, it pauses. I can't even lift my head to look at my sister. Okay, so maybe the typical guy in me is kind of proud of what I've just seen. I'm not a virgin anymore, and I've slept with one of the best-looking girls in my county. Then, though, the negatives seep in. I slept with Tori who is also one of the most conniving and crazy girls I've ever known, so I can't see this working in my favour from here on out. I can't remember it either. Even seeing it doesn't jog my memory. I guess a lot of people do this under the influence, but it particularly sucks somehow. Worst of all, my sister has clearly seen this video. How much of it she bore, I don't want to know, but the fact alone is making my stomach twist so much that it feels like it might rip. Sidra says, "Well, you seem satisfactorily humiliated, though I'm detecting a hint of male pride. Am I wrong in that assessment?"

"…Yes…" is the best I can manage.

"Liar. Well, perhaps a few little facts will extinguish that. What if I told you Leandra's seen it, that Camille has seen it, that the Gamemakers have seen it, that the other tributes have seen it, that your mother and father have seen it, that _Joss_ has seen it, that the whole bloody country has seen it? How would feel then?"

Now I look her in the eye. "What are you talking about?" I ask in horror.

"Myself, Leandra, and Camille have access to the cameras, but the Gamemakers monitor them twenty-four-seven. You think they'd pass up the opportunity to broadcast this golden material as they call it. This started airing nationwide this morning just after I chased you out of here. Congratulations, you've single-handedly managed to generate the highest pre-games ratings ever. You're all anybody in the capitol's talking about, all everyone in 2, 3, and 4 are laughing about. I'll let you guess how everyone in 1 is reacting."

"Not well."

"Understatement of the century right there. I've been in contact with home. Mother has to call Joss or your father home to chase off angry neighbours and hecklers. People are boycotting his jewellers by the way, so he has plenty of time to be doing it. Your parents haven't said it openly, but I can tell they are mortified. Joss won't take my calls at all. Leandra, well, she's in the hospital recovering from alcohol poisoning after a monumental bender, even for her, after the news broke. I hope that little flicker of pride keeps you all warm inside. You can always watch it again if you need to refresh it."

She returns to staring at me across the table. I push the pad towards and push my chair back as I stand. She says, "Where do you think you're going?"

"I assume we're done."

"You assume incorrectly. We still have your coaching session to get through."

"Are you kidding?"

"Not even slightly."

"What's the point? This scandal is obviously going to fuck up my score and my chances of sponsorship no matter what I do now."

"Not necessarily, we just have to work this to our advantage."

"Is that a joke?"

"No, and rehashing that question with different words is irritating me. We may have to portray you as somewhat despicable and mischievous instead of your current image of being a foolish, lecherous drunk. That's going to be difficult to pull off with you, unless we get you drunk again."

"So that's your grand plan, make me out to be some kind of lothario to cover for this?"

"Would you prefer to go into your live interview and let it be known that you were so senselessly drunk that you didn't realise you were having sex with a fellow tribute?" The interview tomorrow, I'd forgotten about it completely, and Sidra can tell. An icy smile crosses Sidra's lips and she continues, "Ah, had you forgotten? You have to sit before the whole nation and be interviewed most pointedly about every little facet of your life, this event especially. After all, your deflowering is out there for all to see."

"Oh my God, don't ever say that word to me again, and what makes you or anyone think that that was my only time?"

"I saw the clip, Cato. It doesn't go on much longer than what you saw. It clearly wasn't Tori's first time, though."

"Please, I beg you, stop. Are you laughing at me?"

"Yes, I'm choosing to see the humour in this or I'll have a mental breakdown like Leandra, leaving you alone to fend for yourself, and we can't have that, can we?"

"Does any of this really matter anymore? Will anything I say change their minds about me?"

"Yes, it will. You are not the first tribute to get _physical_ with another, shall we say? Though, none have been caught going as far as you have. Still, a playboy or two have passed this way before, so we'll just have to make you out as one."

"That'll never work. It's me we're talking about."

"And that is what coaching is for. When I'm done, it'll be like you had a personality transplant."

Not so, it turned out. Sidra tried to get me to behave as she wanted by acting as an interviewer and asking the questions they would ask. She wanted me to be nonchalant about girls and sex, to be confident and most importantly to be dripping with charm. Well, if this was a transplant then my brain was rejecting it completely. As soon as the word sex was mentioned, I blushed. I tried to talk about girls, but it was obvious I was clueless, and I couldn't make up some fictional history of all the broken hearts I'd left behind to Sidra's satisfaction. Charm is definitely not something I am _dripping_ with. I think you could wring me like a cloth and you wouldn't get a drop. In the end, she gave up out of frustration, only managing to get me to carry myself with proper posture and to walk properly, something I believed I had mastered as a toddler, but clearly, I was wrong.

I didn't even get a breather before I had to face everyone. They all arrive into the general-purpose floor as the announcement of the scores is about to begin.

Korvin looks smug as usual, so I just ignore him altogether. Festus looks almost as embarrassed as I am. I guess, after me, he came off the worst. After all, the whole country has seen his naked backside. Pallantia looks pleased with herself, as does Tori. Both of them paraded around in their underwear and everyone has seen just how good they look. I bet they are gambling on a good number of male sponsors, especially for Tori as they've seen her in action. She looks at me with a huge grin on her face and eyes that are hard to break away from, as though she is trying to mesmerise me with the suggestion of future trysts. I don't know where I got that from. Somehow, I can tell that that's what she's trying to get across. Ignatia is her usual icy calm self, totally unaffected by the day's events. Two people who definitely do look affected are Leandra and Camille. Camille looks flustered and isn't his usual prim and perfect self. I suppose he's been out doing damage control, though he is so limited that I can't imagine he did much good. Leandra is the total opposite. She looks totally rundown and haggard. Having binged all morning and then spent all afternoon in the hospital having the alcohol filtered out of her body, I can understand it. Those capitol quick-fix cures always remedy the problem, but the price is always a complete drain on your reserves of energy. She looks at me but instead of the fury I was expecting, she looks ashamed. I quickly avert my eyes before I feel any worse.

The television set comes alive at a voiced command from Sidra who is the last to join the group. She seats herself in the empty space beside me seemingly out of a lack of other options. The usual fanfare and propaganda airs first with a segment of the national anthem playing over scenes of peaceful, prosperous, happy places and people from across all four provinces, finishing with the emblem of the state. The music changes to the more artificial, upbeat notes of the beginning of this slot of hunger games coverage with the host being Nigel O' Hare, a man who seems not to age and has cheated death so far in his forty-year career. Someone in his prestigious position would be a prime target for assassination, but he never bears the signs of any near misses or looking in anyway fearful. He is always cheery, always energetic, and he is the man who interviews me tomorrow. I try to put that out of mind as he starts to speak. He begins, "Good day, good day all, and welcome to live coverage of the 99th annual Hunger Games." A cheer goes up from the audience as he announces it with a dramatic flourish. He continues, "Now we come to the next and perhaps most pivotal step before the games, the revealing of the Gamemakers scores. Now, we all know the rules, each tribute will get a score from one to twelve, twelve being good, one not so good." The audience laughs jollily. "Now, we are all aware of the filthy, scandalous drama that unfolded in apartment 1B this morning." The crowd whistles, catcalls, and laughs some more, all out of sight as Nigel does his best to look appalled. Tori looks very proud of herself, but I just curl into myself and focus on the television. "Okay, okay, enough of that. Well, I've been instructed to inform you all that the scores to be announced have in no way been influenced by that sordid affair. Only what the tributes did in their evaluations may be judged, not what they've done in their free time, which may come as a relief to the young man and woman involved, as well as their cohorts. Mark my words, they will not get off that easy with me tomorrow, I can tell you that."

I close my eyes in despair on hearing that. I will be slaughtered. I just know it. Tori seems totally at ease with the prospect. I know she's going to humiliate me. I can tell from the mischievous way she's looking at me, or is she still being suggestive? Festus looks notably relieved, although Pallantia looks totally unfazed, maybe even a little disappointed. I guess she thought seeing her in all her semi-naked glory might cause the Gamemakers to favour her some more. I don't look at any more faces. Camille's whimpering and Sidra's sighing are enough confirmation of their state of minds. Nigel waits for the cackling audience to calm and then says, "Okay, so let us begin. As always, we will start with the Province 1 boys, our Careers as they are known." A screen as high as a house lights up behind him and Korvin's picture appears with all his vital stats such as his age, height, and weight listed to the side with an empty space for his score. Nigel says, "Korvin O' Reilly, eighteen, with a score of…nine!" The audience cheers as a huge white number nine takes up the whole screen. Korvin is not impressed as he thumps the armrest. Sidra says, "Calm, Korvin, that's a good score that we can work with."

"A nine? A _nine_? Why couldn't they just give me a ten?"

Festus replies, "Because you weren't good enough for it."

I smile for the first time all afternoon as Korvin eyes his brother with murderous rage. Festus doesn't even bother to look back. Then his picture comes up on the screen along with his stats. His expression subtly changes as the fear creeps in. Korvin goes back to looking smug, acting as if he knows something the rest of us don't. Nigel's voice cuts in and Festus sits totally tensed up. "Festus O' Reilly, eighteen, with a score of…six!"

Festus looks pale and slumps down in his seat a little. Korvin laughs out loud, and the girls grin mockingly. Six is not bad, many tributes aspire to such a number, but for a Career, it is a tragedy like any other tribute getting a two. I'm trying really hard, but I can't remember the last time a Career scored less than an eight, for that generally is the minimum score Province 1 tributes achieve. To score a six, Festus must have performed fairly badly by Career standards, and it was likely his physicality that got him most of his points. Korvin stops laughing long enough to say, "Not so fucking mouthy now, are you, brother mine? That is pitiful. I always knew you were shit."

Sidra shushes him, but he just keeps sniggering. It's my turn. My picture comes, looming on the screen with my details in bold, lurching out at me, my score waiting to pounce. Nigel says, "Now, this is one of the ones we've been waiting for, our playboy tribute." More sniggering, I close my eyes and pray that doesn't stick. "Cato Mulqueen, sixteen, with a score of…_eleven_!

I am, well, I don't what I am. I could say gobsmacked, stunned, or a number of other similar adjectives, but they just wouldn't cut it. My mouth is agape, my eyes wide. I am stock-still, believing this is some wishful daydream that I'll snap out of any moment. An eleven, an _eleven_, really? Now this is something to be genuinely proud of. An eleven has only been handed out twice before in the ninety-nine year history of the games. I know this because one of the people who got it was Joss's father, Darius, in his first games before the last Quarter Quell. I don't know what to say, but everyone's expressions say it all. Korvin looks ready to spontaneously combust. Festus nods his approval but is still reeling from his own score. The girls, especially Tori, are all shocked but look like they are re-evaluating me once more. They all don't matter. My sisters are looking at me with some semblance of respect, which feels a lot better than just a few moments ago. They move on to Pallantia, but I don't pay attention after that. I have a score that almost guarantees me sponsors. I may stand a chance after all, provided I survive the interview with Nigel.


End file.
